


The moments inbetween

by MaryLouLeach



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Family, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Kid John, Kid Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-06
Updated: 2012-12-06
Packaged: 2017-11-20 10:58:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 27,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/584652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaryLouLeach/pseuds/MaryLouLeach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An attempted kidnapping leaves Mycroft injured, and John stays behind to cause a diversion. Mycroft finds himself wondering through the past. John finds himself facing a group of very angry killers. Sherlock hears his brother is injured and when he learns of John's sacrifice, he'll need Mycroft's help in getting his friend back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. DON'T BLINK

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Мгновения между [строк]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11636325) by [petergirl10](https://archiveofourown.org/users/petergirl10/pseuds/petergirl10)



Things happened in a series of blinks. Blinks,yes, and it wasn't some sentimental rubbish, he wasn't reliving his life or some nonsense like that, well not at first at least. More like between each blink the present played out and he felt as if he missed a big chunk of the movie in the middle. And maybe some of the beginning, actually Mycroft felt a little dazed about it all, but he did know he wanted off the merry-go-round. No, that wasn't right, the world wasn't spinning, it was tumbling and rolling, finally coming to a rest with a sickening sound of broken glass and twisting metal.

He blinks. It's a short blink and the world isn't spinning, but replaced with a thick haze and the sounds are chaotic and defining.

Another blink, dust or smoke fills his lungs, someone is yelling. He coughs, Mycroft winces it hurts to cough, he makes a note not to do it anymore. Again more yelling, but Mycroft cant make out the sounds, they are muffled, something in him is telling him to move but he just feels so tired.

Another blink "Mycroft, just sit still, don't move. You're going to be all right. I just-" the blond man's voice was cut off. He went from a crouched down position, one that was reaching towards Mycroft, trying to help him. Then, Something happened halting all actions, the world was a bit fuzzy, but the blond man-no. He has a name, and Mycroft knows it.

"John?" Mycroft thought he'd said the name but the sound escaping his dry lips sounded more like a moan. Pain, in his side and head, the younger man had an expression of pinched worry, controlled, always so calm in such chaotic situations. A good mask, and Mycroft wonders how the younger man came to acquire such a defensive response.

But John's mask shatters, John had been reaching for Mycroft when the hands angry, grabbing, tearing, wearing black gloves the kind to hide finger prints, and secrets and hold weapons the deadly kind. And these hands pull the blond man away, rip him from Mycroft's reach. The younger man is gone, and Mycroft puts a hand to his head, it throbs and his vision blurs.

He knows that the blond man, no, his name is John, Mycroft knows that John is in trouble. John is important, he cant remember why John is important. The yelling outside the car it cuts through his foggy thoughts, the sound of men's voices, shots being fired, than the man is back. His blue eyes determined, and Mycroft makes out cuts and bruises decorating John's face. Had they been there before?

He wonders now why the world has turned upside down, slowly, his brain is working at a snail's pace, and he realizes he's in a car that's flipped on its back. He's still strapped in, and more sounds of shouting and gun fire. He tries to form words to ask an important question to the man that has returned, where did he go? The familiar young man is talking to him, the tone, Mycroft decides is familiar. He knows this man, where does he know him from?

"I'm going to get you out." The blond man with the bruised and cut up face, promises, and Mycroft knows this is what he will do. This familiar man is crouching down sitting almost underneath a dazed Mycroft, than with ease he unbuckles the government servant, cautious to bring him down from the uncomfortable position, careful hands release the pressure threatening to suffocate. Seat belts really aren't so comfortable though Mycroft notes this one did save his life.

Another blink, and Mycroft hears talking, quickly, more gun fire close again, just outside. Was this a war? Smoke and dust filled the taller mans lungs and he coughed, it pained him to cough. He decided he hated coughing, coughing was painful there fore he refused to do it again. The sun is out, it's a warm spring day maybe, is it spring? Or afternoon, the grass is a little damp under his hands. His suit is ruined, but this doesn't bother him, nothing is bothering him. Where was he? More confusion.

"Mycroft?" John, John is his name. Mycroft reminds himself. This is important. John is important, but why? Why is he important?

" **_Do this for me Mycroft. Promise that you keep him safe."_**

**" _I promise. All of them shall be under my protection, Lestrade, Molly, Mrs. Hudson and John."_**

Yes, that's it he's significant to someone, someone important to Mycroft, someone he must protect.

"Listen. We were in a car crash-we are under attack. The other cars in front of us were caught in the initial explosion-"

Mycroft blinked, it must have been a long blink or maybe he blacked out but the blond haired man, in the checkered shirt, such casual attire for being one of his men. No, John didn't work for him, worked for someone else. Not for, with, he was not his employee. John is not an employee; he's never been under Mycroft's employ.

_**"I haven't mentioned a figure."** _

" _ **No. No I'm not, I'm just not interested."**_

Another blink, not so long this time. Mycroft sighs taking a deep breath they've moved away from the crashed black car. But they are now behind another one, even more badly damaged. Mycroft can see burned skeletons of what used to be a security team still wearing seat belts within the upturned car.

"You're alright Mycroft." John is talking and Mycroft feels himself searching for the source of the calm in all the chaos. Yes it's chaos all around guns are being fired. John puts something against Mycrofts aching head, his face still bruised. Why was he out of breath, had they been running. Yes, that's right, they had, more gunfire. Running away from the bullets, John was a Doctor. Mycroft thought suddenly.

"We need to get to that car!" John's voice authoritative and Mycroft could see him not in the ripped and bloodied checkered shirt or torn at the knees and equally stained slacks, but a uniform. John was a soldier, Mycroft recalled his service file, yes memories coming back, he could remember that much. A doctor, and army doctor. He fought the urge to blink again, he needed to focus. Focus and remember, they needed clear thinking to survive this situation.

He blinked, he found himself in the middle of an argument between a junior member of his security team, well what was left of it he deduced.

"Sir-"

"Listen, Edwards is it?" John cut the young man off.

"Yes. Sir. Edwards-" Mycroft caught how the Doctor with his insistent words, his steady brown eyes running over the dark haired man in a black suit. Dazed as the government servant was, he could see the Doctors assessing the young man, injured right arm, cut hand, than setting on the wedding ring on the security mans finger. "Edwards. I need you to get them out of here. If they get past me I need you to be ready to keep the British Government over there from being taken. "

"Where are you-" Mycroft felt alarm, his mind was still sluggish but the resolve in John's voice, it wasnt good.

"Like I said I'm going to draw fire away. This will buy you time." John kept low, but Mycroft didnt understand what John was getting at. He'd missed an important part of the conversation.

"Sir, this is against procedure." Thomson another Junior officer.

"Oh, well I hate to break it to you young man but it seems those terrorists out there with guns and explosives aren't going to follow the rule book." Mycroft hadnt heard this tone before, at least he didnt remember ever hearing it. Another blink started to come on, and Mycroft tried to fight it. This time however it was different.

A random memory bubbled to the surface, he found himself sitting crossed legged on a oriental rug, a warm fire crackled to his left casting shadows over the antique chess board in front of him. And at the other side, laying on his stomach wearing blue silk pajamas was his younger brother. Sherlock, Mycroft could see the way the boy looked over his pieces, his tiny chin propped in his small delicate hands. Those gray eyes concentrating on the problem before him.

"Sir you are a civilian-" Mycroft pulled away from the memory. He could think a little clearer now. His headache worse, the pounding almost unbearable, and the two men arguing didn't help.

"Oh, oh. Going to pull rank on me? Now? Really-" John frowned at the younger security officer, another married man, probably a father the way he spoke to John as if to a petulant child. Before Mycroft could interrupt, John cut Thomson off.

"Who here has got three tours in? I know how this works, I wasn't just playing nursemaid. Don't forget I pulled you both out of the line of fire. I fought in a war kid. Now you will listen because I'll say it once." John gritted his teeth, only pausing abruptly to turn, firing his weapon, or someone else's he acquired somehow. But he kept firing from his position at the rear of the smoldering car they'd all crowded and taken cover behind. Mycroft tried to concentrate, where were they?

"Sir-" his assistant usually devoid of expression much like him, looked nervous. Of course she'd never been out on the field she was more of his second in command, giving orders from her blackberry. Her hands where clenched in her lap now having nothing to hold too, no mobile to call for help. "Sir, please stay still, you've hit your head pretty hard." Mycroft put a shaky hand to his forehead, someone had bandaged it.

Mycroft watched John grab Thomson by the collar blood stained the body gaurd's white shirt and tie, Thomson, that was the junior officers name. "Listen. Your Job is to get that man there, and his assistant to that car over there." he nodded his head in the direction he refered to, then continued " You can not accomplish this if you're under heavy fire. Neither one of you can run very far, you're both injured."

"You're just a doctor-" Mycroft watched the blond man clasp his eyes shut not used to having orders questioned. He was military now, this was Captain Watson.

And that memory surfaced once more, of the chess board and his younger brother searching for a way to save his knight. Mycroft watched mesmerized by the flush in his younger brother's porcelain cheeksfrom the heat of the fireplace. They hadn't played chess in years, well since before Mycroft left for Uni really. Mycroft watched his brother move one of his pieces away from the knight.

 _"Sometimes brother you have to be willing to sacrifice your knight."_ Mycroft watched his little brothers gray eyes move to the antique chess bored. They narrowed on the marble piece.

 _"Sentiment brother, there is no advantage to sentiment"_. Sherlock refused to listen and took another piece easily over taken and just as easily

 _"checkmate_." Mycroft smugly announced _"See brother look at all you lose and for one knight."_

Mycroft pulled away from these daydreams? Hallucination? Memories? Whatever they were they were distracting him and he couldn't afford that right now.

"That's right! I am just a bloody doctor. That's why you and your friend there are going to get these two government officials the hell out of here, while I draw fire away! "

"John-" Mycroft flinched, talking wasn't helping his head, and with the new wave of pain came a very strong urge to be sick.

"Mycroft don't you start. You're in no condition. And I don't work for you." John checked the amo in the assault riffle he'd kept slung over his shoulder. He tossed the empty 9mm aside, he then handed the two security officers 9mm he'd taken off the aggressors.

"Here. Take these. Hey-whats the name today?" the PA raised an eyebrow at the doctor's casual tone. "It doesn't matter. Here, you know how to use one of these?" she nodded and he handed her a glock.

"John, you do not have to do this." Mycroft started. His thoughts came rolling forward like a wave. John was significant to Sherlock, Sherlock was important to Mycroft and therefore John must live. Simple mathematics.

"Got any better ideas. No this is the only option. I'll hold them off, you lot get into that damn car, once you're clear of the damn little place where mobile signals go to die, you can call for back up. I'll be right here waiting. " The doctor gave an easy grin, turning once more to fire off some shots with the assault riffle.

"John-" Mycroft was searching for something to say, the ex soldier smiled cutting him off.

"It's alright Mycroft it's not like I haven't been in a firefight before. To think just a few hours ago I thought it was going to be a nice calm afternoon, maybe some lunch at nice posh restaurant, paid for by you of course." John grinned, than his military voice was back. "Alright boys, count to five before you head for that car." John pointed to the only car that had made it in the explosion, unfortunately the unknown attackers had taken out the driver and passenger with an AK, the same AK John had taken off the shooter after killing him and his partner.

John observed the area, this was a good spot, they had some tall grass on their side, if everyone stayed low they could make it unnoticed to the vehicle just a few meters away. The security officers that had survived the first attack managed to widdle down the numbers enough that John only had to worry about the bastards in front of him. Now out of the 6 men Mycroft had guarding him only two remained. Well three if you count John, and John did count himself, he couldnt let anything happen to Mycroft, he was important. God knows what those kidnappers wanted from him, he was a dangerous man yes, but he also had a lot of dangerous information that certain groups would pay money for, but to get that information Mycroft Holmes would have to be tortured. And John wasn't going to let that happen.

"Keep him awake." He directed the PA and then to the two younger men, "Good luck."

This was the best way, John knew it. He planed to slink down in the grass and divert gun fire away from the car. He only wished he knew how many of the would be assassins, kidnappers who ever or whatever they were. "Well John, time to find out." He whispered to himself.

The headache hit Mycroft harder as he began to protest and he blinked against the pain, blinked twice. He was inside a fast moving vehicle his assistant held his head down next to her own on the leather seats. Mycroft looked back, they weren't being perused, but he could hear the echo of bullets. Trade of gun fire from an Ak, and more gun fire in reply. Another overwhelming blink. Then silence-he found himself falling back into the memory of a cool winter night in front of the fire place.

" _What if I don't want to lose any of them, what then?"_ the young boy with the probing gray eyes pouted sitting up now crossing his arms over his chest.

" _It's an impossible scenario, Sherlock, you should never become to attached to your pieces. Sentiment clouds your judgment, like father says."_

" _I don't care for the knight-maybe it's just a tactic to throw you off. And Father is an idiot."_ Sherlock moved again, skipping over his knight. Mycroft sighed, foreseeing a tantrum, but he did try to warn him.

" _Checkmate."_


	2. INTERRUPTED

By two pm John, already received several random texts, some very concerning texts. Kicking off with one at 6:30 am.

" _Tea John."-SH_

" _Sherlock get it yourself I'm in Dublin."-JW_

" _Oh, that's right you and your blasted medical conference. I'm bored!"-SH_

" _Well you can always clean the flat."-JW_

" _Dull."-SH_

"John, when will you be back? I'm bored."-SH "Called Lestrade, he's not a morning person at all."-SH

" _Sherlock! Leave Greg alone. And did you take your vitamin."-JW_

" _I hate vitamins. They are uninteresting."-SH_

" _I don't care if they are uninteresting. Either you eat three meals a day or take the damn vitamin. If I return and find you haven't then I will force a feeding tube down your throat. You know I can do it."-JW_

" _Are they training you on your bedside manner at this medical conference?"-SH_

" _Sherlock, piss off. I 'm busy."-JW_

" _John. You're not much of a morning person either."-SH_

The good Doctor, shook his head and went on the hunt for some nice English Tea. Knowing the word _**bored,**_ coming from a certain dark haired detective, was never a good thing. Especially when home alone with no adult supervision in sight, definitely not an ideal situation. John received several more texts by noon, following the same pattern.

The most disturbing texts came during the conference, when John from experience knew to turn his mobile off. When he reactivated his mobile these texts are what greeted him;

_"Where did you hide the blow torch, John?"-SH_

" _Never mind I found it."-SH_

" _Do we have a fire extinguisher?"-SH_

" _Never mind, Mrs. Hudson had one."-SH_

" _We are going to need new curtains. And can I ask you, just how attached are you to your comforter?"-SH_

" _I think you will agree with me when I say it's well over due for a new comforter. You're welcome."-SH_

That's when John decided a nice walk would be good. Not having the opportunity these last three days to really see Dublin, John decided on some aimless sightseeing. He would be returning to London tonight, hopefully to a flat that hadn't been burnt to the ground or infested with plague. Avoiding the other Doctors that were standing outside the confrence hall braging about their new cars and investments, John made a quick b line for the exit doors leading to the street. So intent on enjoying the day and ignoring his troublesome flatmate, John hadn't noticed the expensive black car that followed him two blocks, finally blocking his way as he tried to cross the street. John threw his hands up in surrender.

"Just three days, just three bloody days. That's all I needed. For work. This isn't even a holiday!" He grumbled. The door opened and John sighed knowing the routine, but to his surprise it was Mycroft and not the usually stoic brunette.

"John. Hello. Sherlock mentioned you were in town."

"Yes on a medical conference. But you already know that. What's this about Mycroft?"

"Actually it's a social call. I thought you might want to join me for lunch? I'm heading to our country estate. There is a nice exclusive Inn that has an excellent selection to please any pallet. And after I'm sure you'll find a relaxing walk on the family estate's private grounds to your liking. My business is nearly concluded here, I will insist on you escorting me back to London, I'm sure you'll like the private Jet more accommodating than second class on a crowded aircraft. Please John, get in, so we can stop impeding traffic."

"What's the catch?" Johns eyes narrowed, he remained on the street. Mycroft laughed now, it was a light posh laugh one that told you nothing.

"John, really. My brother has made you so cynical." Mycroft sighed; he was picking imaginary lint from his tie now, his umbrella securely at his side. "I've been quite busy these last few weeks. And I wouldn't mind catching up. Besides I rather missed our weekly lunch ins."

John felt like an ass, dammit these Holmes brothers knew how to put on the guilt. It was true, before Sherlock returned from the dead, Mycroft insisted on weekly kidnappings, always an invite to dinner or lunch. John had grown accustomed to these kidnappings and after a month stopped fighting them. He even began to call and arrange a time with Mycroft.

"Sorry Mycroft. I just didn't get enough sleep. I would love to join you for lunch."

John climbed into the back seat of the black unmarked government car. As they started to roll down the street Mycroft smiled easily.

"Good. Now you can tell me about this business with the-" he took out his mobile phone touched the screen and continued "Ginger midgets?"

"They prefer little people-" John corrected trying to buy some time. "And it's a long story."

"Well, seeing how the country estate is more than a light jaunt. You can fill me in." Dammit there it was, John should have known better. Just then he received a text.

_"Oh, Mycroft is in Dublin. If he kidnaps you don't tell him about the Ginger midgets."-SH_

" _Actually John its best to avoid him all together. Under no circumstances do you get in the car with him."-SH_

" _You're already in the car aren't you?"-SH_

" _Yup."-JW_

Mycroft's phone vibrated he looked down at the incoming text rolling his eyes and not bothering to reply only to receive several more inbox alerts. John at this point had to chuckle having been on the receiving end of similar unrelenting texts all day.

"Mycroft tell me about the estate? I didn't know your family had property –"

"Doctor Watson, as much as I would love to describe the history of our family lineage and all the properties passed down through the centuries. I do believe I asked you a question earlier." John shot a quick text to Sherlock.

_"Sorry I tried."-JW_

John tried to think of a way to explain the case of the missing scientists, two brothers, red headed and yes they were four foot tall. Things didn't go exactly as the consulting detective had planned, but what ever did. John hadn't entered that blog yet, because he was still working it out in his head, to much confidential information to skip over.

Of course Mycroft would be interested because the two brothers had worked at on of his or rather the government's very secret military bases. The two brothers had a sister, five foot six( if any one wondered) and she reported them missing it was all very upsetting and with the reputation of the great Sherlock Holmes she hoped he could shed light on her missing brothers. The base director happened to be a fan of Sherlock and allowed him access only to the missing scientists' office and laboratory, as well as a quick interview of the usual colleagues. The director was interested in what had become of the two men that had worked so tirelessly on various confidential projects. He soon regretted his cooperation.

John winced now thinking about the events that lead to a solved case, granted Sherlock could have handled a little more delicately considering all the political officials involved. Most likely, John guessed in hindsight people traveling in Mycroft's social circles. So John smiled evenly, more like a grimace and asked Mycroft

"What would you like to know? It was pretty open shut. Nothing to um interesting." He leaned back in his seat sliding as close to the door as possible. "damn you Sherlock." John fumed, he had told him to ask for the help of the older Holmes brother but that stubborn git refused, instead he went off and embarrassed a few high ranking officers. Maybe even a duke.

The Doctor concentrated on the scenery passing them by, four cars all together, two up front and one behind them, the usual security procedures. John wondered if the PA was in one of the other cars, and if Mycroft was texting for more details that he already knew on a case that he wanted John to talk about. Road crews were clearing away cars from a traffic accident and they soon left the busy city behind them.

"At the beginning would be the usual start Doctor Watson." Mycroft's voice was cool and John knew the tone meant he wouldn't accept anymore attempts at avoiding the subject.

John started at the beginning and hadn't reached the part where Sherlock called the Duke a slow-witted moose, yet. His phone buzzed he looked down his mobile flashing a loss of signal alert. He moved to place his phone in his jacket pocket when the familiar sound roared up, angry, violent, and instinct took over. John new this sound, committed it to memory, he'd often been haunted by the sound in his nightmares.

"IED!" he felt the earth shake beneath the tires of their vehicle, the car jolted and sped up, John looked over at a stunned Mycroft, the usually cool government servant was looking at his phone. John instinctively reached over and pulled a seat belt over the taller man's shoulder. Mycroft threw him an odd look clutching his umbrella and his phone, than another explosion, and John remembered the twisting and tumbling, the smoke and the dirt.


	3. EASY, LUCKY, FREE

When the car came to a stop, John felt instinct take charge, all before his brain could catch up, he opened his eyes stinging from the smoke and dust, already his hands sought out his seat belt, the dammed thing biting into his shoulder and chest.

In the confusion he thought he was in a military humvee, the grit of sand in his mouth accompanied by the familiar taste of blood.

No that wasn't right, not in a humvee, he grunted and pressed the release falling face first onto the crumpled cab of the black car. A civilians vehicle, not sand, smoke and dust, glass shards bit into his hands, but he ignore that, it reminded him where he was.

Checking quickly for the two men who had been in the front seat, one was no longer in his seat, probably thrown through the windshield and the driver his eyes wide and neck at an odd angle, John didn't have to check his pulse. That's right, not the desert, a car, black car, a government car.

"Mycroft!" the world had seemed silent except for his own pounding heart, now it all rushed in on him. Shaking hands went to check a pulse. John let out a sigh of relief, strong pulse, bruises where the seat belt rubbed across Mycroft's pale neck, to be expected. The position the taller man was in couldn't be good for his back or neck. John needed to get him out; his head had a nasty gash, just above the right temple that needed looking at.

"Well this was one way to get out of telling you the story." He murmured, deciding he would have to get under Mycroft and release him gently, to avoid further damage.

The injured Government servant move, then came the expected coughing. The Doctor, could see  the gray eyes start to open, looking around blankly. "Right, wonderful, concussion."  John stated as if checking something off a list.

The other man was trying to move, John could hear him wince and warnings of possible broken bones, fractured ribs, a prospect of internal injuries ran through the doctor's mind. The sounds of gunfire are nearing and John knows it's unsafe to remain in this vulnerable position.

"Mycroft, just sit still, don't move. You're going to be all right. I just-" so focused on the man who replied with a weak moan, that the Doctor hadn't even felt the hands grab onto his calves and pull. The ex soldier didn't wait to ask who they were, he didn't have to, they had black gloves and dressed in black military field gear. Two men, wearing black ski masks. How original, he thought but their accents gave them away. One held a 9mm to him. John put his hands up feigning terror.

The sun bright just over head, a sunny day, a gentler sun, damp grass beneath him, not sand not a desert. The words being yelled he understood them, English all of it. Not Farsi, he wasn't back there, back were the orange sand drank up the spilled blood greedily, no not there. He reminded himself, _Dublin_. He pushed his thoughts of confusion down, _not now PTSD, not now._

"Please don't shoot me." John begged, " I don't know what you want but please, I'm just a Doctor, I was hitching a ride. Everyone's dead in there. Everyone, just dead.-What do you want? Please-" John kept his eyes downcast, taking in the area, he could see one of their cars completely charred and rolled over on its side, another hadn't made it much further, but at least it was somewhat intact, two security officers were trading fire with assailants on the road. This felt like a war, dead bodies already scattered about.

"Quit your blubbering!" John grunted a hard kick to his left side, snapping him back into sharp focus. All right he'd give the bastard that, while he assessed the best course of action.

"We are looking for Mycroft Holmes. Which car is he in?" John held back a laugh; these assholes bombed the motorcade without knowing which car Mycroft was in? Amateurs, or just a bunch of idiots either way lucky him.

"Who?" John groaned curling in on his side, keeping up a pretty believable act. And Sherlock said he was the worst liar.

"Don't play stupid!"

"Just shoot him! He isn't anybody. Look at him, not even security, what security officer would wear those colors." John frowned hearing that, it hadn't occurred to him that he wasn't wearing fatigues. Dammit, must of hit my head too, blurring things together.

That aside, what was wrong with his cream and brown-checkered shirt? And his slacks had been nice before the accident; no way he'd salvage them now already having ripped the knee. He waited the first assailant was talking into a radio his back turned to him and John's would be executioner standing over him. Perfect timing, John thought and without any more hesitation he kicked out, sweeping the goon's feet out from under him, the surprised killer, fell on his back with a grunt.

John was up faster than the man could react. He took the weapon and the man on the radio hearing his friend's sudden out take of air when he hit the ground, turned now. But John got a shot off perfect through the head; giving the idiot he'd knocked down first, enough time to surge forward. John didn't feel like dragging this out so he pulled his elbow back and brought up under the larger mans chin, another direct hit to the solar plexus, knocking the big thug off of him. An additional accurate shot with a steady hand and the 9mm, this one to the heart, and John collected both weapons from the dead men.

_**~0~** _

Edwards, a junior security officer stumbled from the black Mercedes he'd been a passenger in, the driver had a bullet in the head they'd crashed with two flat tires into the ditch off the road, lucky to not have flipped the car unlike the one a few meters away.

"The boss was in that car." The brunette woman who usually held a blackberry in her perfectly manicured hands pointed to the turned over wreck where Edwards had been looking. Both agents ducked as one of their unknown attackers sent a shower of bullets in their direction. Edwards had his 9mm but it was dammed near impossible to get a shot off in his position, if he stood up he'd be a sitting duck. His cheek burned from where he'd managed to cut himself on sharp glass. His left arm ached; he kept it tucked tight to his inside.

"What a disaster." He muttered, trying to talk into his earpiece he received no signal nothing just dead air, he ripped it out in frustration. The bullets where getting closer, and before he could chance another look at the position of the enemy a shot rang out, he flinched ducking down, and a body now slumped over the hood of the car with a heavy thud.

"What the?" The assailant had been hit, a bullet to the head. Edwards looked across, instead of seeing one of their own men, it was that man, the one the boss had stopped to pick up. Edwards would have missed him completely if the shorter man hadn't sprang up from his crouched position, and fired another kill shot just over Edwards left shoulder. An additional thud an assailant's body falling limp, the PA had her arms over her head trying to stay low. The blond man advanced towards them.

"Can you move?" Edwards felt himself temporarily speechless, who was this man, another agent? Dressed like a ordinary bloke, for gods sake he wore a cream and brown checkered shirt and beige slacks, but those eyes, quick, observant and calm, a great disguise.

"Doctor Watson, oh thank god." Edwards frowned hearing the brunette who'd said her name was Alma, talk. "Is the boss-"

"He's alright, just a slight concussion, he'll have one hell of a headache when he comes out of it. He's a bit dazed. You alright?" she nodded, shakily, the Doctor than picked up a discarded weapon from the unconscious assailant lying limply over the hood of the car.

"Radio working?" The blond man asked Edwards.

"No sir."

"There a first aid kit in that vehicle?"

"Passenger side, should be one under the seat."

"Good, good. You two think you can make it back to that car there?" Alma nodded, but Edwards still had a dazed look on his young face.

"You-"

"Edwards sir."

"Alright, Edwards, you take this 9mm, and head in that direction, stay low in the grass, I'll be right behind you." Edwards didn't care to take orders from a man he'd never met before, but Alma had already headed towards the indicated location. More shots fired by the Doctor. "Go. Now." The blond man growled and Edwards staid low following the female agent. Just as he'd said they reached the turned over car, the Doctor followed a few minutes later, dragging an unconscious security officer, one he knew as Thomson, they'd started at the same time, the last two to join the Iceman's security detail.

_**~0~** _

John had seen the younger man take a hit to the back of his head, enough to daze him he crumpled forward. Swearing the doctor had no choice but to give away his position to take out another enemy. He moved now, quick for a man whose shoulder was starting to throb dangerously. His breathing he started to notice was sharp and somewhat painful. That damn seatbelt must of cracked a rib, and that nice little ride in a rolling car didn't help his shoulder. John looked up expecting air support, the sky was blue, clouds were moving in, rain?

"Not in Afghanistan." He reminded himself, "Dublin." But there wasn't a war in Dublin was there? No, no, they were under attack, this group wanted Mycroft. John hated this, his head was aching, and the smell of smoke and sounds of gunfire played tricks with his already frazzled thoughts. Focus soldier, focus. He moved, grabbing the dazed young man by the collar of his shirt, pulling him quickly to the safety of the group.

_**~0~** _

"Is he?" Edwards stayed low, going to his friend's side.

"Just a bit out of it, he'll come around." And just on cue Thomson, started to move, confused at first but he sat up looking around. The Doctor was cleaning the wound on a ghostly white Mr. Holmes. Once he pressed a bandage over the head wound, Mycroft started to say something, John smiled cutting him off. "You're alright Mycroft." John tried to hold the mans gray eyes with his own blue but they glossed over again. "Keep him awake." John instructed Alma, after he'd plastered and clean some of the deeper cuts, repeating this on the other two men.

The Doctor touched Edwards arm, the security agent hissed when trying to straighten it. "Not broken but most likely fractured, you'll need to get that x-rayed."

"I'll get right on that." The doctor didn't answer to the sarcastic comment.

"Sit still mate, you've had one hell of an injury, let me clean out that cut on your leg." Thomson looked down at the deep cut just above his knees, soaking his pants.

"We've got to get to the other car. My guess is that one there, judging by the dead driver, I'm going to say it still has the keys in it." John cringed watching the battle between the British Government's rapidly dwindling entourage and the aggressors. He counted 12 men and as another fell, it was down to six, six left to guard Mycroft.

"Doctor?" Mycroft mumbled. John went over to taller man, popping up to fire a few rounds. Just so the enemy knew that they were armed and to stay back.

"Mycroft you owe me an expensive lunch and possibly a dinner. You stay awake." John lightly tapped Mycroft's face. He looked over at the worried PA, and then the two young security officers, his eyes went to the only possible means of escape. The ex-soldiers  jaw clinched seeing two goons already overrunning two more of Mycroft's agents. He could see that the driver of that car had been shot, and the passenger now followed.

"Stay here, with him." John stated moving towards the cocky bastards with the AK and a regular handgun. He shot the one with the AK, unnoticed once more from his position in the grass, his earth toned clothes perfect camouflage, he wanted the assailants weapons.

Edwards' eyes widened, as the blond man neared, he had an AK slung over his shoulder, "Who the hell is he?"

"He's not security or an undercover?" Thomson squinted watching suspiciously as the blond man fired again returning quickly to their position.

**_~0~_ **

Later while speeding away Thomson would reflect on all of it. The junior security agent was experienced and trained well enough to know their fight would have been a losing one. Thomson had studied the small group of survivors all injured, pinned down behind this dammed car, it all had looked so grim, and the idea of escape unobtainable.

That was at least what his thoughts had been, now he was glancing in the rear view mirror, putting distance between the aggressors and their target. "Get on the phone Edwards! As soon as you get a damn signal call it in!"

"Got it!" Thomson heard his partners quick report, and than the sound of friendly Helicopters above.


	4. ONLY IN DREAMS

Sherlock scowled at his mobile, he'd sent John three more texts and still no reply, even Mycroft had been silent. The sound of heavy feet on the stairs, followed by a hard knock, stern, unyielding and authoritative.

"Where?" Sherlock answered the door, his coat and scarf already on. The government babysitter stepped back temporarily stunned. "Spit it out! What happened? Where are they?"

"Sir please come with us, we have reason to believe your life is in danger-"

"Well of course it is. But you haven't answered my question. And I am not a man of patience."

"Sir, we need to go and now." Sherlock didn't move. Clearly this idiot didn't understand-

_"Sherlock just go with the man. Stop being a stubborn child."-MH_

Sherlock resisted calling his brother, and for the first time in his thirty years, he did what he was told.

**_~0~_ **

Mycroft defied the urge to groan, his head throbbing relentlessly, he needed his mind to be sharp and ready, instead of impeded by this infernal hammering. Somehow Mycroft, managed to pound out the text to his brother forcing down the nausea that came every time he opened his eyes. A nurse in this high security private hospital moved to dim the lights, this of course made it impossible to read any of the reports.

"Sir your brother will be on a plane ETA 45 minutes." His assistant equipped with a new blackberry hadn't wasted any time, her thumbs flew over the keyboard, passing on key information and sorting other intel for later review.

Mycroft didn't much look forward to the meeting with his brother. He knew how Sherlock would react, Mycroft had always been able to predict Sherlock's responses, and his reactions, since his younger brother's first steps.

This would be different, and Mycroft checked his phone again, the inbox texts blurring. Still he knew, no word, the recovery team had accounted for his security detail, various causes of death. But no doctor, and the bodies of the unknown mercenaries too were nowhere to be found. A sickening feeling was settling in. The Doctor could be dead somewhere or worse, being tortured. He leaned back against the pillows of his hospital bed, he'd angled it so he could sit somewhat comfortably, it wasn't helping. He briefly closed his eyes, promising himself it would be just for a moment.

"Mycawf" a light pressure on his arm, "Mycawf" a little more insistent. He still didn't open his eyes, not wishing to wake up from his dream, something was increasingly important and couldn't be put off. But now he felt tiny fingers pinching the backs of his eyelids, "Mycawf! Wake up!"

Mycroft sat up now, sucking in breath, someone switched on a lamp near his bedside table, the hospital scene melting away. Eyes adjusting to the light, he squinted confused, a pair of very familiar gray eyes, curious, searching with a hint of mischief, bore down on him.

"Sherlock?" The older Holmes said this with such disbelief the younger boy took a worried step back. Mycroft couldn't believe his own eyes. Gone was his tall thin, brother, the one with such icy condescending eyes, eyes that accused and refused to forgive, oh but it was the same mess of curls, not a spot of gray, and though his baby brother was naturally thin, this Sherlock had a curve to his normally slight face.

"I-I-I was bored." The small stutter the shy look, Mycroft laughed, because yes that was his brother's normal complaint, but hearing it in the slightly hesitant child, Mycroft had to express amusement.

"What time is it?" he asked unable to resist the urge to ruffle those soft curls. The small boy in his silk blue pajamas shrugged then climbed up on Mycroft's queen size bed, a bed in his childhood room. Looking around taking in the details of the not yet aged wall paper the posters of past prime ministers, royalty, and naval ships. All of it, was packed up and stored away years ago. A model plane sat on a desk top half assembled, his room immaculately organized, the book shelf the closet. And then he caught the time on the clock next to his lamp.

"Tell me a story." Sherlock demanded now sitting cross-legged on his brother's bed. "Or lets go treasuring hunting in the garden!"

"Sherlock, it's three am-why would we go treasure hunting?"

"It's the best time yet! It would be fun! You can pretend to be the British navy and I will be Sherlock the Ghost of the Seven seas! Returning from a 3 year hiatus to my old stomping grounds to reclaim my treasure! Arrrg." Mycroft stiffened at the mention of these words, what a cruel reminder that this wasn't real. His little brother would grow taller, thinner more unpredictable and careless. The silence, and resentment hadn't made a permanent home between them yet, but it would, years from this memory the foundation for that wall would start to be built.

"Did you have a bad dream?"

Mycroft felt the headache again he put a hand to the side of his head and turned towards the question. Now repeated but not by a small child, the squeak in the voice gone, replaced by a deep baritone. One that sounded uninterested and bored.

"Sherlock?"

"Who else?" a biting retort, Mycroft felt himself wince not from the affect of it emotionally the difference between the four year old Sherlock and the one who wasn't even looking at him. No this wasn't why he winced, his head, it was the headache and that alone. Still Mycroft felt the distance once more, that cold wall of resentments, mistakes and disappointments sprouted up. Even now the thin lean consulting detective in his dark coat moved to stand near the window, Mycroft could feel the years start to fill in the space in between, never had he felt so weary.

" Oh, Mycroft. What government or terrorist cell have you upset now? No one will tell me anything. Now that you're awake, maybe you can fill me in on a few things. First, where is John?"

**_~0~_ **

John could only see a blur of colors and lights, the sounds of booted feet on gravel, his body ached. Slowly the world came into focus.

"Gave us a nice little run for our money." Some on growled just over to the left of him.

"We should take him back to the Boss." Another from the right of him.

"I'm okay right here."  John tried to sit up, grunting at the sudden pain in his side, the sun was starting to set, how had he got here, the two men in black looked down on him one with a sneer the other mild curiosity.

"He wasn't like the others, for one he's dressed like an ordinary bloke, but did you see how he knifed Keller? That and why was he traveling with the Iceman? He has to be someone of importance. I say we bring him to the Boss. And if he's not worth anything, then you can put a bullet in him yourself. Or at the very least let Omar have him, he was a bit angry over this failure of this mission. We may even get paid after all. "

"Fine." The scowling man conceded.

John wasn't liking this agreement. His memory slowing coming back, he'd left the road realizing that he was short on amo and since the black government car had gotten away and to the safety of back up, the very angry group concentrated on killing him. So, being a man who liked to breath and live, John ran, heading straight for the tree line, hoping the wooded area would give him some cover. He wanted to wait these men out, but he hadn't realized just how angry the lot would be. John ended up being tackled by a fairly large man, probably this Keller they referred to, and stabbed the thug with his own knife, in the chest. Then someone, John guessed it was one of these two men, came up from behind and knocked the piss out of him. His shoulder ached and the back of his head felt a bit tender.

"Well its been fun but I think I'll just go."John didn't know why he said the words maybe because he figured he already didn't have much time to live, might as well go out with a good laugh. Besides he'd been knocked out once today, why not get it over with.

"Shut it!" And before John could block the attack the butt of a fairly heavy rifle came down hard against his forehead and lights out.

"I'm taking a picture and sending it to the boss, I don't feel like lugging this one around. I'd like to shoot him right here if its all good."

"Fine, but you know there's no reception"

"Dammit. Well might as well take it. And then we'll get him in the van."


	5. THE THINGS WE LOST

"I am not one of your drones to order around Mycroft! I wont be told what to do!" Sherlock started to pace again.

Mycroft had dressed and was ready to leave the hospital opting to check himself out on his own _recognizance_ . The Doctor's parting words directed towards Sherlock;

"If there are signs of hallucination and confusion bring him back immediately. He'll need to see a Doctor. Also nausea, vomiting and double vision is to be expected." Sherlock understood the man was only trying to appeal to Sherlock, maybe being Mycroft's brother he could talk him out of leaving. But Sherlock wasnt his brothers keeper so the doctor should have saved his breath.

He ran a quick discrete eye over his the British Government. Pale, to be expected, shoulder stiff, obviously trying to maintain an appearance of regained strength. Then Mycroft waved the Doctor off, dismissing him impatiently.

The Doctor looked as if he wished to say more, Sherlock could see this, but no one told the British Government to go back to bed. This Doctor had no backbone, the younger Holmes brother thought of another Doctor, John would have most certainly threatened to do more harm to his patient or even sedate, if said patient didn't heed his advice.

John wasn't here, but Sherlock was going to find him. To do that he needed Mycroft's help as much as he detested going to him for help. They'd hardly spoken since he'd been back, they fell into the same old routine, except Mycroft wasn't as intrusive.

Patching things up with John had been difficult and drained Sherlock emotionally, Mycroft had wanted Sherlock just to stay gone, to take on another identity move to a different country or city. The excuse being it would be better, easier on his friends than dealing with the betrayal of a hoax. Seeing John, Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, and even Molly in pictures or snap shots with updates had been the fuel the consulting detective needed,  reminders of why he had taken on the mission to destroy Moriarty's criminal network. Upon Sherlock's return he'd hidden in plain sight, wishing to see his friends, he thought if Mycroft was right and his friends would be better off then he'd leave, no more words said.

Sherlock had seen them, the way Mrs. Hudson cleaned the upstairs flat tidying up, she hadn't changed the wall paper, the yellow smiley face still grinning, still grinning. She kept his flat like a museum, he couldn't leave her. Lovely Mrs. Hudson and her warm embrace, she was clever, and patient, and reminded him a little of mummy. Maybe it was her open praises at even the smallest accomplishments, her need to hug, or pat his head whatever her mood, even lightly slap his arm in half hearted reprimand.

Greg and Molly went about their daily routines, but he wasn't blind to the motives behind Greg's sudden interest in homeless people when crossing the street for coffee or on a crime scene. As if he were searching their faces for a familiar one, coming away slightly disappointed. Sherlock watched as DI Lestrade placed a hot cup of coffee in some homeless kids hands coffee and an untouched half of his sandwich.

"Thanks Boss." The addict would tease, and Sherlock realized that Greg had been doing this often enough for a handful of those self-exiled souls to know and respect the DI. Rumor on the street was that the DI Lestrade was one you could go to if you had a problem. He'd handed out a card only on request for a local shelter that helped get kids off drugs, and off the streets. Lost causes Donovan would say, but Sherlock understood the DI.

Molly seemed to be estranged from John and Lestrade, she kept her distance even from dear Mrs. Hudson, the weight of her lie the guilt took the bounce from her step.

John, John had been the most changed, the most changed of all. Thinner, he'd moved into a small cheap flat still in London, working at a nearby clinic. Sometimes Lestrade would meet him late at night, and the two would rush off towards the darker part of town. 

Sherlock could see the two talking to a girl with a cough, or a boy with a bruised face. John would open his bag treat whomever. Still John was broken, he had a slight limp to his walk, and he held his hand in a tight fist at his side or in a lab coat pocket when he was at work. That damned tremor was there and Sherlock wondered if he'd made it all so much worse, by forcing his friend to watch his supposed suicide. How many of John's friends had died on the battlefield because he was unable to get to them quick enough, to save them. NO Sherlock wouldn't abandon his friends, he told Mycroft as much.

His brother seemed tense, the younger Holmes couldn't understand it then, even now but the trust that had been built between the two did not extend further than professional courtesy. Sherlock didn't blame his brother for what he did, Moriarty would have found other ways to extract the information about the consulting detective, he could have done so by harming any of those three people the psychopath had threatened. Still after Sherlock eased back into his life and the good graces of his friends, the wall that had been constructed since childhood, remained between the two Holmes brothers. And Sherlock didn't know how to bring it down, or even if he wanted too.

"Sherlock, we need to gather more data before going off blindly! You'll only make the situation worse. We don't know yet which group attacked my entourage, or if they even have John he could be lost somewhere out in the countryside. We don't even know-" Mycroft's detached tone snapped Sherlock out of his dangerous thoughts, dangerous and distracting.

"He's alive!" Sherlock turned on his brother, "He's alive." Lower now, his gray eyes narrowed, cold and angry. "He's alive. Until I see a body, he's alive. I've already wasted too much of my time waiting. What has your lot done? NOTHING! They cant even say what direction he headed in."

"We cant announce we are looking for him Sherlock. What if they don't even know who he is, or that he is lost? Or worse, if they do have him they'll realize his relationship to the family and-"

" And what? What are you worried about brother? Or is it easy for you to be unconcerned about my friend because he knows nothing of value to whomever is after the British Government? If he dies it would be no great loss to you."

"Sherlock! He's my friend too. Despite what you think, I am concerned. Concerned enough to keep my wits about me, to look at this logically because carrying isn't going to bring him back." Mycroft was right, and Sherlock hated it when Mycroft was right.

"This is your fault!" Sherlock ran his hands through his hair. "What business did you have with him? He was going to a simple boring Medical conference. Instead you had to stick your nose in my business-"

"Your business-" Mycroft growled. "Your business affects me greatly when you decide to make enemies of powerful men."

"Powerful men? Are you still sore about the Duke, he was an idiot-"

Mycroft's phone went off he looked down at the incoming text. Sherlock forgot what he'd been about to say, his brother looked sick a pasty color. "Oh sit down Mycroft before you fall, lets not embarrass us both." he snapped irritably.

"Sherlock." Mycroft took an even breath, fighting the nausea, the drumming in his head had returned.

"What? What is it?"

"They've found John Watson, or rather received information from a source. Still yet to determine who had him." Mycroft missed his umbrella, he could really use it to lean on, not wishing to show weakness he remained standing. His brother stood off to his left, nearest the window, they hadn't even left the damn hospital room yet.

"Had? So he's escaped. We'll that's the John Watson I know-" but Sherlock couldn't continue his brother's lips thinned, had Mycroft been in better health he would have waited to gain more information before going to Sherlock, but his brother was there more alert and tense, his deductive skills honing in on Mycroft's every facial tick or movement. There was no mask to put up, Mycroft was having a damn near impossible time standing. "What?" Sherlock demanded. "What is it Mycroft?" Mycroft thrust his phone towards his brother; the motion nearly caused him to lose the control on his already twisting stomach.

Sherlock looked at the picture on the screen, zooming in and then out, studying every detail. John could be sleeping but his head was turned to the side, clearly blood on his forehead, matting the blond hair at the base of his skull, damn if only he had been turned the other way Sherlock could see more, to see if it was a bullet or- no he pushed these deductions aside. He didn't know for sure, John couldn't be dead. He wasn't dead, not John, John wasn't dead.

"I wont believe it until we have evidence or DNA, a body-something. Until then I'm looking for him. I want to know the original source of this."

"Alright." Mycroft replied.

"Alright?" Surprise.

"Yes. As I said, alright. Lets get started, seeing how there is no proper computers in this room with access to a secure line, I suggest we head somewhere that does offer such amenities. Then I will make whatever men available to you to find your proof. But you will not go off on your own, for all we know this attack is in response to some of our over seas work. My PA has already contacted the Irish Prime Minister, he's willing to lend us whatever resources and offices we need."

Sherlock didn't reply or say thank you,  he only stalked out of the room his dark coat flowing behind him. The older Holmes brother straightened his shoulders and started through the door after his brother.

"Mycroft." A stern voice halted his feet; the British Government turned to find himself not in his hospital room but in the library, the one of his childhood home. "Mycroft boy speak up. Have you seen that petulant brother of yours?"

"Father?" Mycroft blinked, trying to wake up now, this wasn't exactly an appropriate time. He had a Doctor to find, that and he already lived through this childhood, he had no urge to revisit.

"Of course. Who else would it be? Really son you know how I feel about repetitive questions. Now an answer please." a confused Mycroft glanced over his shoulder into the carpeted hall where the hospital corridor had been, remembering his brother's angry retreat.

"No. I haven't." His father took a step closer, Mycroft had never really considered his fathers height, in later years he'd be just as tall but judging from the irritation and impatient tone in father's voice, and given that the man towered over the Government official, 12, he guessed his age to be 12 so his brother would be six.

"Don't try to lie to me Mycroft. I expect better from you."

"Yes, sir." Mycroft inspected the man, had he always worn his hair this way, short but combed back. The sun through the window showing the natural chestnut highlights of his almost red hair. In fact, Mycroft felt as if he were looking into a mirror. No wonder Sherlock despised him. Did his brother see his father when looking upon his older brother?

"He will never learn Mycroft if you allow him to get away with these things. He needs to understand there are rules, and expectations in life."

"He's only six-" the soft voice brought Mycroft up short it always did, and father turned to look upon a dark haired woman. Her skin the perfect of porcelain, unlike the Holmes men, mummy's eyes were a soft blue, like a spring sky or the clearest ocean. Mycroft couldn't find his words, she stood five six, perfect health, her dark hair fell in natural curls around her shoulders, she wore a white dress with flowers decorating the front, roses, bright and blooming, was it spring? He remembered that dress and the black cardigan she often wore. Her shoes reminded of black ballet slippers.

"Mummy?" Mycroft's mouth went dry, his father scowled towards him, hearing the emotion in his older boys voice.

"Darling, will you please remind your brother to keep his scarf on. Go now, he's most likely in the gardens. Father and I need to talk." With the grace of a dancer she moved towards him, her feet soundless on the carpet, her hand resting now tenderly on his shoulder. He wanted to reach up and touch her soft curls, to embrace her tightly. Was he going mad? Just another cruel dream this, all of it. "It may rain, Mycroft do grab an umbrella on your way out. Its always best to be prepared for all kinds of weather. " her warm hands cupped his chin, tilting his face up to look into those eyes yet to be marked by age and the confusion that it brought with it. Now a small grin curved her red lips, and she glanced at her husband who had his back turned on the two.

"A good umbrella will carry you through the stormiest of weather." She leaned over and kissed the top of her sons head. Mycroft felt himself tense, even her scent invaded his senses, roses and lavender. Two things he'd kept planted around the entrance of the house. a sentimental reminder of her. "Be sure to keep that stubborn little brother of yours under it. I know you'll watch out for him, because we both know he'll only come in when he's ready. Sometimes it's best to just follow him until he tires, he has to do things on his own, and in his own way. Go on now, off you go." She patted Mycroft's shoulder, he moved to leave, only to pause at the door, he could see his father tense, ready for an argument, but she wasn't without a backbone.

"Coming brother? Or have you decided too much leg work?" The biting words tore Mycroft out of whatever day dream or hallucination he'd been having.


	6. UNSYMPATHETIC CHARACTER

"What a pity, I actually liked the Doctor, it's a shame but it will do. You fools may have failed at bringing in Mycroft after I practicly handed him to you on a silver platter. But this, this will be better, a new plan then. And we are already ahead of schedule, with this prize here, we'll be able to bring in the younger Holmes. And, having those two pretentious gits chasing after their precious Doctor I'll be able to make that arms deal, with no worries of just how much attention the British Government is personally paying to me. Finally! Here I'd hoped to just kill Mycroft and blame our competitors. No this is all so much better!" the dark haired middle aged man with the ridiculous handle bar mustache looked down on a now awakening doctor.

"Oh, hello there Doctor. Nice to meet you again, I'm a tad embarrassed it's under these circumstances. But c'est la vie !" he chuckled he straightened his expensive black suit.

John squinted looking up from the cold floor his arms still zip tied behind him, that was managable, but his feet might be a bit of a problem. John had to laugh now, how could he not recognizing the conceited man. "Duke Harrington. A pleasure. You wouldn't mind losing these, would you? Be a mate?"

"I wish I could Doctor, I really wish I could." The tall Dark haired man's face pressed into an artificial expression of concern, never reaching the kidnappers cobalt eyes. "I am surprised you're in town."

"I was on conference."

"Do you think I'm fool enough to believe that? You just happened to be in town at the same time as Mycroft Holmes? I told the Director it was dangerous letting you two amateur detectives, nose around the laboratory. But he said it would be a mistake not to allow it."

"Sherlock Holmes is no amateur!" John growled trying to pull his hands free. "He made a sizable dent in the hierarchy of your precious military Base." The Duke didn't reply, he only continued as if John hadn't said anything.

" That girl had to go off and hire you two. And you both very nearly brought us down with the others. Unfortunately Mycroft Holmes starting asking the uncomfortable questions, we had plans to get rid of him blame a terrorist cell, one of our weapons competitors and move on to the now unguarded younger Holmes. Maybe a car accident or a gas explosion we hadn't thought of what yet. If you believe I was going to spare your life Doctor. We both being military men."

John snorted at this, more like he got to dress up and stay on base. Other Royals had gone out on the front line, had fought but this man, was a coward. Born to privilege and his smug manner pissed John off even more.

"You played soldier. You never-" that earned him a predictable kick to the head, only John had waited for it, and moved kicking the back of the Dukes leg, caught off guard he fell back. And it was worth seeing him on his ass in humiliation, worth the beating to come from his minions, well worth it.

"Now tell me Doctor Watson, I'm a bit suspicious that you're in town with Mycroft. Are the two Holmes brothers trying to throw us off? How much do they know?"

John tried to even his breathing, someone had steel toed boots, his shoulder burned and throbbed, he ignored the question, turning on his side, trying to ease the pressure of his position on his shoulder, no help at all. His head ached but not to badly, thinking of headaches he hoped Mycroft wasn't pushing himself to hard with that serious concussion. Knowing the stubborn streak running through the Holmes line, he guessed this not to be a likely course of action.

"Oh, doctor forgive me. I forgot about your shoulder. I could maybe have you untied, give you a comfortable place to rest, lick your wounds a little. If you would just tell me everything I need to know. You are after all very close to the family."

"He's my flatmate. Its not like I go to family dinners and go on holiday-"

"Ssssh, please Doctor Watson. Your unwanted remarks cause my associates here to lose patience." John shook his head, this arrogant prick wasn't even doing the kicking or punching in fact he kept a good distance away from John's bound legs. Hilarious, always having someone to do the heavy lifting. John wondered just how loyal his dogs would be when their little operation was descended upon by the British Government. No, John wasn't stupid enough to believe Mycroft would come solely to get him back, but the fact that the Duke felt threatened enough to try and have Mycroft assassinated, meant that Mycroft had been dangerously close to uncovering the identities of those involved in whatever it was that the Duke had his fingers in.

"So, uh. Duke." John panted, his lungs unable to take in full breaths. "Tell me. Was the director also involved?" John could see the Dukes features darkened. "Of course that's exactly what we thought." The doctor made a tisking sound now, and  sighed heavily.

"He knows doesn't he?"

"Oh, Mycroft knows a lot of things." John chuckled seeing the tension and fear cross the larger man's face. He did have a long nose, and his girth, well, Sherlock had been right he was a moose. "You're a fool thinking you could strike out at the two. They're something fierce in their own separate terms, but you-you have brought them together so I hope you're ready for the coming storm. I wonder how loyal your hired henchman will be, Mycroft Holmes is the British Government, he could lock you and your men in a deep dark hole and no one would even know."

John watched how the two thugs at the Dukes side hesitated to reply with more abuse. Instead John could see his words penetrated their dense skulls, "What a mess you've made Duke such a mess. I wonder if your partners know whose attention you've just brought on yourself. Sure Mycroft had suspicions but this failed attempt on his life, he cant let that go unanswered."

"Don't listen to him." The Duke growled catching the indecision in his hired mercenaries. "He's a fool! Just a washed up army doctor that stands in the shadow of greater men in hopes of some shred of fame. You Doctor, aren't even sidekick worthy, and are easily forgotten. Oh there is a storm coming, and I have the advantage of being a step ahead. They wont be prepared for what I will throw at them. And after I've brought down those two conceded fools, I'll put a bullet in your head. "

"Please if you could just do it now, so I can be spared the long winded dialogue. I already have a headache and you're not helping." This time John hadn't been prepared for the punch in the face by the Duke himself, John snickered at the fat mans whimper of pain. "You should put some ice on that or it'll swell. I should know after all, I am just a doctor."

The Duke nodded to one of his men and another hard kick. Somewhere in the distance it sounded like rain, and this was soothing in a way. Rain made John think of London and umbrellas, and the gray of the sky, like the eyes of two very stubborn brothers. One who would dash through the rain at a mad rush, and the other slow, patient, steady with his large umbrella to keep the rain off of his expensive suit, both men confident in their gait. John hoped as he descended into familiar darkness that he wasn't going to have too much of a headache after this ordeal.


	7. BROTHER HOW WE MUST ATONE

Sherlock scrutinized his older brother out of the corner of his eye. Mycroft still carried bruises from his recent ordeal, the side of his head had been held closed now with a few stitches and pinched in place by acouple of plasters.

His brother most definitely wasn't his usual obtrusive self. In fact the British Government seemed distracted, a little dazed at times. Perhaps it was best to leave Mycroft somewhere to rest, but his hardheaded brother wouldn't ever agree to that. Sherlock frowned, John would be very irritated with both brothers, at Mycroft due to the fact he checked himself out against doctor's orders and Sherlock for allowing his brother to over exert himself.

But Sherlock needed Mycroft's help to find John, of course John being the man that put all others health and well being ahead of his own, he left Sherlock no other choice. Even now Mycroft was starring out the tinted windows of the government car.

Mycroft tried to concentrate and focus on the problem at hand, someone had targeted him. But his plans had only just changed, a handful of people in his inner circle were privy to the details of his meeting there in Ireland. The gathering that had been called was fairly recently planned when it was apparent that Mycroft would need to be present to appease some hurt feelings.

He thought back to moments before he'd seen John on that street. Right after a rather difficult tet a tet with some irritable heads of state over a certain military base being shut down under investigation.

When he'd been told that John Watson was in Dublin on a medical conference, Mycroft hadn't thought of interrupting the other mans schedule. Then he'd seen John on the corner looking rather irritated, and by his pallor and dark circles under the younger man's eyes.

Mycroft deduced, the poor man hadn't received much sleep. His body language showed his uncomfortable maybe even antisocial revulsion to the other doctors milling around.

Mycroft had spent time with the Doctor, while Sherlock was _"gone"_ he felt the obligation to keep the ex soldier and army doctor safe, even if it were to protect him from himself.

He could see John wasn't comfortable around some of his colleagues working in the upper-class sectors. Maybe they glorified what they did, and the Doctor was too modest for such allowances. These types dressed as they were in their expensive suits an older generation perhaps talking of the _"good old days"_ of getting your hands dirty, before machines and lasers shaved off hours and recovery time, and in short their pocket books.

But John Watson had gone to war, had seen blood and death, held a gaping wound together operating with little to no sedatives, under enemy fire. So hearing these men speak of blood and surgery, of treating people as monetary gain alone, Mycroft could see why he wished to be far from such talk.

Instinctively he'd reached out to the man, that and he did wish to clear up some of the Duke Harrington business. Sherlock hadn't answered any of the older Holmes' texts and he would rather hear from John than his brother.

Things had been strained between the two Holmes brothers since the younger's return. John had forgiven him long ago, and then once more when he found out that he'd been kept in the dark about Sherlock's _"death"_. John understood Sherlock and Mycroft came to realize the shorter man with his blond hair, and ordinary attire was anything but.

John could see Mycroft, even the many masks Mycroft had crafted, John could see right through. And instead of exposing such a raw wound that was the relationship between Sherlock and himself, John Watson tried to heal it. Mycroft respected the man, and despite all his denial he'd come to think of John like his own brother, something important, something worth protecting.

He wondered what would have become of Sherlock had John met him sooner, even if he'd met John sooner. Would the Doctor still have stayed by Sherlock's side? Or would his brother have spiraled out of control as the doctor went off to war? Upon John's return would he have been received with open arms? Sherlock would have worried and fretted.

Mycroft may have had strings pulled to keep the Doctor in less hostile situations, moved him to a prestigious army hospital and the adrenaline junkie would become irritable and the feeling of stagnation would get to him, he'd feel like a caged animal. As sharp as he was he'd know that Mycroft had something to do with his sudden move from the front lines. And Mycroft knew that the Doctor would feel angered by this, hurt, his sense of duty dictated that he be out saving lives even at the risk of his own.

No it was everything from the war and the modest childhood that molded John into the man he was. Into the man Sherlock , and Mycroft would never admit out loud, but a man that Mycroft needed. They both had been missing something and then came this good-natured, patient Doctor. Damn him, stripping Sherlock and himself of their masks of their armor. Then the fool goes and gets himself into trouble, Mycroft had failed to protect the one other person in his life he'd sworn to keep safe.

He'd only picked the Doctor up to allow him time to rest, to eat something better than a deli shop sandwich and cheap cup of tea. Besides after the day he'd had playing referee, he thought that hearing John's easy going nature and of course snippets of exchanges between his brother and the Doctor it could ease the tension and irritation from a long workday.

After all when Sherlock had left, Mycroft came to enjoy though he would only ever say he endured the one on one chats with John on the weekly basis. John just relating his everyday normal life put Mycroft at ease because he didn't have to pretend with John, he could be silent or laugh, smile or disagree without a cost to his own image. He could see the reason his brother wanted the man back, he was important, an anchor or a lighthouse when the seas of life became ruff.

The silence in the car between his brother and himself started to ring in Mycroft ears; he pinched the bridge of his nose closing his eyes. The pounding in his head louder now, or maybe it was just the cold stillness that amplified it, bouncing off his dark haired brother and hitting Mycroft hard.

He needed to put thoughts of John behind him, a cold anger started to build, this was no way for a man to die-for a friend to die. How many times had the doctor thrown himself between danger and Sherlock. And now he had done the same for Mycroft and the others. Damn this double vision.

The tinted window of the car faided now as he closed his tired eyes, and now Mycroft was standing in a park. A warm sun overhead, he tried to figure out where and when he was. A park, this park he'd stored it in his memories, but where. He realized he was holding a scarf a familiar blue one, where was he? He started forward calling out his brother's name, bumping into someone.

"Oh, sorry." The younger boy apologized dropping something he'd had in his hand, a book of some sort. Mycroft ignored him; he should be looking for his brother. "Uh, you're not from around here are you?" the younger boy with blond hair inquired politely, but Mycroft started to walk past him. "Hey, you ok you look a bit lost?" Mycroft only replied curtly.

"My brother, I'm trying to find him."

"Oh, hey maybe I can help?"

"Can you-" Mycroft turned not remembering this encounter somehow he must be dreaming or his hallucinations were getting worse.

"Mycroft?" Sherlock's baritone voice startled the older man, had he nodded off?

"Sherlock?" Mycroft sighed heavily, eyes still clasped shut.

"Can I what?" Sherlock's brow crinkled, Mycroft could feel the gray eyes quickly run over him, firing off deductions, coming to a simple conclusion. "It was a mistake for you to leave the hospital too early."

"Coming from someone who has to be threatened with death by a certain army doctor or unconscious before he'd consider stepping foot into an A&E-" Mycroft's voice was harsher than he intended but these hallucinations were bothering him.

Dragging things up to the surface things he'd locked in large metal chests tossed into the dark prisons the dungeons of his minds fortress, a place he dared never enter. Not wishing to look back on such things as his fathers death, or his mummy losing her mind and than slipping off in her sleep her hair grayed by time and her bright eyes dimmed by Alzheimers. The feelings that each of his brothers near overdoses caused in him.

"Mycroft-" Sherlock didn't know what he was going to say, he tried to think of something John had told him on many occasions, but his brother cut him off curtly.

"Let it go. We are almost to the offices belonging to the Irish Prime Minister." The car did pull up the driver opened the door, Sherlock irritably held back a snide remark. He didn't need Mycroft slowing him down, that's why he had said what he did. Not that he had concern, Sherlock knew better than embarrass them both with sentiment.

"Sir!" Mycroft's PA came out hurriedly to meet them. "More news sir, I've set up equipment in one of the offices."

"Very good." Mycroft hurried up the stairs, fighting the urge to wince, and the waves of nausea, he was a Holmes, he was in control of his emotion, and his body dammit.


	8. SOMEONE ELSE'S HAND

John could hear arguing around him, something wrapped around his mouth, making it difficult to breath. His head was covered by a dark cloth, it moved against his face as he took deep unsteady breaths through his nose, a sense of panic nearly overcoming him. Was he in the desert again, had he been taken by the enemy? Listening he could hear the foreign language. It was Farsi, his shoulder ached, he realized biting hands were holding him under his arms on each side, dragging him.

"Get him on the truck!" he tried to gain some sense of balance, willing his untied feet to move, he pulled back against those unknown men holding him. He couldn't see and the bag was ripped from his head. He pushed back again, the world seemed blurring and hazy, like a bad dream or drunken night out. Still he managed to dodge a meaty fist aimed for his face, pulling one of the men holding his right arm, into the path of the attack. This threw all four off balance and they landed now in a heap on the cement.

More yelling in Farsi he kicked out, moving away from the tangle of arms, idiots had tied his hands in front of him instead of behind. Someone was reaching for him he was already on his feet pulling the damn gag from his mouth. They were yelling in Farsi, confusion, why was he here, something felt wrong. One of the bigger thugs laughed and rushed at him tackling John by the waist, the smaller man brought a knee up, catching a bearded chin. His hands reaching for the handgun holstered at the aggressors side. That tap to the chin crumpled the bigger man, leaving him slumped in a heap at John's feet.

"Stay where you are!" he growled in their language everyone froze, no one moved. Looking around he could see the four men, five counting sleeping beauty at his feet. A warehouse? Not a cave, but something had to be off, why did he feel so confused, drugs maybe, a hit to the head. He wasn't in fatigues, was he? The enemy were dressed all in black, not scarves or the grays, browns and whites of the Afghani people.

**~0~**

Mycroft and Sherlock watched frozen in their places, the familiar blond haired man wasn't able to see the caramel skinned goon, coming up from behind, holding out what looked like a taser. Sherlock felt sick as the weapon came in contact with his friends neck, it shocked the good Doctor's body causing him to fire the gun and drop it, falling on his side twitching uncontrollably and the screen didn't go blank until he was loaded into the back of black van none too gently.

"This footage was given to us through unusual channels sir, the source hasn't been confirmed but Elias Perry found it on a raid Eruopol was involved in. He had it forwarded to the proper channels, wondering if it was one of our agents. The man being of British nationality, face recognition identified the doctor immediately. The time stamp is from five hours ago sir."

"What do we know about the group?" Mycroft didn't look up from the screen, he'd rewound and paused just before the end, catching the look of cool determination, and maybe confusion on the young doctor's bruised face.

"They are a terrorist cell sir, our department has been tracking their weapons sales. They aren't the typical Jihadists, they only serve their own purposes. They go by the _Knights of Allah_. Only using their Muslim connections to aid them in their sales and smuggling."

"He's alive." Sherlock moved to the rewind the screen, the look the doctor had he was dazed and confused, but alive. Alive and fighting back, Doctor Watson was a very stubborn man, and Sherlock felt a sense of pride swell up in his chest. Yes, his blogger was often underestimated.

John Watson was still kicking, his face bruised and battered, in a state of confusion, but he was still kicking.

"Something is off." Mycroft shook his head. He could sense it by why couldn't he isolate it. Perry, he knew that name, why?

"Sir?"

"Bring me this Elias Perry."

"Sir he's-" the brunette PA caught the glares from both Holmes and halted her words, texting quickly without even looking down at her phone. "Yes sir. Right away."

"Mr. Holmes sir?" one of the surviving security officers, who had returned to duty immediately after he was cleared by a doctor, cut in.

Mycroft and Sherlock moved twin gray eyes on him, he continued despite the varying degrees in the temperature of those glares. He knew that the younger Holmes blamed them, in fact he' said as much, called the team _'idiots, blundering fools badly trained monkeys, incapable of babysitting a puppy let alone keep a Doctor out of harms way._

The older Holmes only held a cool detached gaze, one that was purely professional and to the point. So it was this one he addressed.

"When we were under attack, Doctor Watson-" He caught the sneer of younger Holmes now turning his back on Thomson and Mycroft.

"Go on, Thomson." The older Mr. Holmes urges ignoring the hiss from his brother.

"Yes, sir. While we were under attack I heard the Doctor say something under his breath, I didn't understand it but it is worth mentioning. "

"Well spit it out!" Sherlock growled.

"He said, _'Not Afghanistan. Dublin'_ and then I heard one of the assailants swear in perfect English, caught a bit of an accent as well. He had a ski mask and black gloves but I swear he wasn't anything but a Brit. I think the Doctor understood that too."

"Thank you Agent Thomson." He nodded and hesitated before returning to his position beside the door. "I've never seen a man so cool and calm in the face of such chaos sir, he saved all of us. And I hope to return the favor."


	9. A SMILE

"Why can't we just kill him sir?"

"We will, eventually but we need to keep the Holmes brother's attention focused on chasing our friend there while we make those weapons sales. Just think of all the pressure about to descend on our competition. They'll be to busy dodging the government lynch mobs, to place a bid." The Duke laughed at his own genius. Director Joseph Perry looked a bit uncomfortable with the whole idea.

"I don't think this is wise Duke-what if Sherlock Holmes suspects us?" The larger man turned to his friend still in uniform having come directly from the Base, where he was over seeing the investigation. Trying to divert any attention on the Duke or himself. Appearing to cooperate and at the same time staying one-step ahead. But the stress was getting to him and the Duke could see this.

"You, keep him drugged. Don't over do it, we don't want him overdosing but we definitely don't want a repeat of earlier."

"Si, seniore." The mercenary with the black eye nodded and headed down the corridor. Duke Harrington took a deep breath before turning to his partner.

"Joseph, we've been friends for years now. When will you learn to trust me? It is all well, after our wonderfully scripted video makes it to Mycroft's little minions the wheels will start turning and once again their attentions will be drawn elsewhere."

"You saw what that damn detective did to our little operation, we barely made it out unscathed, other than a few insults on our incompetence. Even then it was enough to spark the interest of Mycroft Holmes. We shouldn't be so close to this one. And what if someone recognizes our men? It's going to look suspicious if they find out our actors are Columbians!"

"You worry to much, those men could speak Russian, Farsi and Chinese, they may be stupid brute force but they do know how to pick up on a language. My friend you're going to go gray." The Duke patted his friend on the shoulder, "Why don't you have yourself a drink. Let me worry-"

"You don't worry enough! I told you to leave those damn twins alone, you thought they were suspicious, they didn't suspect anything they were only concerned with the missing chemicals-you had them murdered!"

"Ok, in hindsight not my best decision but all in all it will be fine."

"And if Mycroft or his brat little brother comes around?"

"Just act normal, and insulted. Or however it is you want. Just distance yourself from Dublin for now. It will look suspicious if you remain here."

"Fine. Just please. No more assassination attempts, let's wait till after this sail to the Koreans."

"Promise-now go. Let me handle this." The Director nodded and headed down the corridor. The Duke frowned and called over one of his men.

"See that the Director has a comfortable ride home."

"Yes sir." The man checked the slide of his weapon and followed after the man.

John heard the sound of gunfire it roused him in time for him to realize someone was leaning over him injecting something into his neck. Fear didn't have time to register as the warm wave of sedative took over.

_**~0~** _

Sherlock studied the video something was off, something didn't fit. Why only five men on film? The others kept their faces covered, except for one man-even then his accent sounded off. Mycroft had reports of that supposed terrorist cell they weren't active in this part of Europe. They usually stuck to just trading arms and they mainly dealt in South Africa that was as far as they came.

Why would they deviate? What interest in John, why keep him. They had no way of knowing his connection to Mycroft, to himself other than he was traveling with Mycroft? But that couldn't be it. Why didn't they shoot him like they'd done everyone else, why keep him alive and then this convenient little video? It reeked of something-something familiar.

Sherlock made up his mind now, looking out the window once more studying the street he could see that the same idiot that had been outside the hospital was now parked just outside the secure building. Looking again at Mycroft he was pinching the bridge of his nose, the bruises on his face darker against the pallor. A clear sign of a headache. He needed sleep and Sherlock knew he wasn't going to voluntarily rest.

"Mycroft " Sherlock sighed pouring two glasses of expensive brandy. "Lets think this all over logically." He poured the drink, swirling the liquid of his glass taking a sip, his back to his brother. In better times if Mycroft was at 100 percent he would see what exactly the detective was up too. But now-this was a true test. And to Sherlock's distress, his brother took the glass gratefully drinking the dark liquid without question of his younger brothers motives. Sherlock looked over to the large leather couch near the window.

"Sherlock?" Mycroft frowned realizing to late what his brother had been up to.

"You brother need a rest. Doctor's orders. Besides I fear that when Doctor Watson returns he will less than happy with me for allowing you to leave the hospital."

"You-"

"Oh come now Mycroft, if you were up to your normal annoyingly paranoid self you wouldn't have taken that drink. Maybe caught the taste of sedative almost immediately. But you did not, only confirming my early theory."

"Wa-"

"Since you ask so nicely." Sherlock went to pull his glassy eyed brother out of his chair, the two staggered towards the couch. "You are not well enough for this one. Take a bit of a nap. I'm sure when you wake up you'll come find me. You understand this is the only way."

"Sher-"

"It'll be alright trust me brother. Now sleep it off. You'll be out about 8 hours. Just try not to be late."

"You-"

"You know I've tried drugging you for years now, funny after 15 years it finally worked. You can thank John for this idea; he's used it on me a few times. Doctor's can really be pushy and deceptively coy. Well here you go then." He put Mycroft head on a pillow, and laid a warm decorative throw over his brother. Whose glazed eyes finally closed and his breathing deep and steady. Sherlock sighed heading out the door, "He's fallen asleep, I'd let him rest." He smiled a false sociopathic smile on the confused PA and security officer Thomson. The brunette looked worried and hurried into the office knowing her boss as John Watson knew Sherlock.

A Holmes never naps when on a case, but Sherlock was already out of the building heading down the steps before she would have time to call security, and now he made his way down the darkened street, pausing near a parked black car.

"Hey sir, can I trouble you for a smoke?"

"Oh, sure, sure-" Sherlock had prepared himself for maybe someone hitting him over the head, or being drugged but he wasn't prepared for the taser. He gave a look of irritation as he fell onto the cold cement his pockets searched and phone discarded along with his lock pick kit. Two other men pushed him into the back of the car taping his mouth and tasing him again needlessly he thought. The car peeled out and headed down the road and out of town, with a now unconscious Sherlock Holmes, no one noticed the smile that played across his face from under the duct tape. If they had they'd of feared for there lives, because like the Doctor and Mycroft's PA both knew, a smiling Holmes was never a good thing.


	10. ONCE BEFORE

"Yeah, I'm sure I can." The blond haired boy smiled easily. "I'll go this way, you can go that way, we can circle around and meet in the middle. What's he look like?"

Mycroft looked around, speechless once more, what did that-he drugged him, actually drugged him. His anger must have been apparent because the young man talking to him shook his head and offering up consoling words. "Being a little brother myself, I can say I'm sure he didn't realize it would cause you concern. He most likely found something interesting to kick around or some kids his age to run with. I do that sometimes lose track of time. So what's the kid look like?"

Mycroft sighed, OK fine, he'd give in to his obviously delirious minds' drive towards the retelling of a past he'd thought he'd locked away and buried so deep the memories never find a way to crawl back to the surface.

"He's tall, thin, a mess of unruly black curls, usually wears a dark coat and has a tendency to be a pain in my-"

The young blond haired kid smiled, "Oh, I'm sure my sister would say the same about me. All right then, I'll head off in that direction and you can the other. There is water fountain just at the other end of the park we can meet there. And if I find him what's his name?"

"Sherlock."

"Interesting name. I'll let him know that his brothers worried about him."

"I'm not worried. I am only concerned as to what father will do when he returns to find we disobeyed orders." A haunted expression passed over the shorter boys face, his easy grin faltering. Mycroft felt like explaining that Father would be angry yes, and his verbal hits were much more affective than anything physical, father was above corporal punishment, all though he may change his mind in this instance, before Mycroft could explain, curiously wondering why he'd want to. The boy already headed off.

"No worries, we'll bring him back."

Mycroft watched the shorter kid start off at a steady pace, scanning the area as he continued. Looking now at the blue scarf in his hands, how old would his brother be? Eight, he'd been eight when he'd run off from the car, nearly killing himself as the car was still moving at a slow crawl coming to stop at a stop sigh. Sherlock had jumped out and dashed into the park. Mycroft had been furious at him in the first place. He'd made him look a fool in front of his friends. Firing off deductions that were inappropriate for a boy his age to say. Father had looked ready to kill,

"Mycroft please take your brother home." The older brother could only obey his father's orders, even though he'd wanted to be with the adults to listen to father talk about politics to hear about the fascinating trades and deals being made just over seas.

Sherlock had embarrassed father and now Mycroft would have to try and play referee between his parents. Mummy would defend Sherlock saying he was only eight and father shouldn't be so hard on him. That he should be proud their sons had such sharp minds and quick tongues, he only needs to learn to curve it. Then father would stand in his cool anger and look down on his wife, a wife who spoke with a passion about anything she found interest in, and she found interest in many things in just a blink , and just as quickly is bored with it. Except her sons, she loved them, she was a whirl wind of laughter, embraces and movement. But mummy also suffered from depression on the sunniest of days she could feel exhausted and refuse to leave her room. Only to be up and about dancing in the rain on the next day.

She wore her heart as they say for the world to see like a badge. Father wore his own mask, many could try to deduce father but would find it nearly impossible and in the political arena in which he chose to run in, this was an advantage. However having an obstinate child with the tendency to spit out whatever he's heard or seen is not an advantage.

The older brother wondered often enough how it was that his parents had even met and had been married. Occasionally he would catch a quick glimpse of tenderness, just as quickly it would pass. But Mummy wasn't one to ever feel deprived of love. She loved the cool hearted man that was their father, and her boys and that was all she needed. Mycroft would never understand the women even in his later years.

The older brother, too had been embarrassed, embarrassed and Angry having to be sent home like a child. And in front of his friends who had been there at the Gentleman's Hall, a place where most men in high office go to play cards, smoke cigars rub shoulders with others in their elite positions of state and business.

Mycroft had decided after this humiliation that there should be a club where one could just go and sit in the company of silence, avoiding unwanted small talk and such outbursts as this. Now Sherlock had run off, and Mycroft would have to locate his brother so they could wait at home for father.

Looking again at the scarf in his hand, he realized he held an umbrella in his left. A cold stone hit his stomach; he had tried to forget this day and almost had. He ran in the direction where the blond boy had hurried off too.

This was the day Mycroft had been so angry at Sherlock that when he found his younger brother being beaten up by three others bigger than Sherlock but not Mycroft, Mycroft had a bit of a bulk but he could fight if had too. No, Mycroft had only stood beside a tree leaning on his dark umbrella, watching his brother being pummeled for saying something about the taller of the boys being a bed wetter. Sherlock had seen Mycroft, and he'd called out but Mycroft only waited for the boys to get bored. He'd been so angry he let those boys do what he wished he could without being scolded by his mother and father.

He wanted Sherlock to just act normal. Like Mycroft who held his own compulsions back, filtered his words and mimicked others in their feelings, it never reaching his eyes. Why couldn't his brother at least try to be like father, like himself a little more normal. And when his brother had stood up shakily he glared at Mycroft, his brother, had glared at him because he'd always been there to stop or interrupt such instances. But Mycroft didn't apologize although seeing his brothers bruised features bloody nose he'd felt the guilt. Even more so, when Sherlock just refused to talk to him, he'd go a month without talking to anyone.

Mycroft halted at the tree, this was were he'd stood those years ago. And once again he watched, but this time horrified at having to see this over again, to repeat his failings. This day laid the first of those bricks forming a wall separating the two brothers.

Sherlock called out once and Mycroft only stood, his brother now curled in a ball trying to cover his face and head.

"Hey!" the blond kid sprinted past Mycroft his shorter legs carrying him faster than one would think possible. "Get off him!" He slammed into the ringleader the one now sending a hard kick into the smaller kids back. This caught the boy off guard and he fell back into a puddle. His friends watched unsure if they should interfere. Though this kid was short and a little shorter his eyes burner cold and angry. And one of the tow headed boys most likely the taller kids brother took a swing at the new arrival, Mycroft could only grip his umbrella the contact knocked the kid over and without hesitation the two were locked in a fight, but after trading punches, the smaller boy held the tow headed boy in a head lock, making him squeal.

"Now, go on then pick on someone your own size!" he breathlessly released his prisoner and watched the three boys run in the other direction once far enough away they shouted obscenities.

"You ok? Hey? You ok? Let me have a look." He pulled the younger boy to his feet gently Kneeling now he examined the bloody lip reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a clean napkin.

"Here just pinch your nose there, tilt your head back a bit to stop the bleeding."

The dark haired boy, only narrowed his eyes on the stranger, and Mycroft could see from where he was that his younger brother was about to spit out exactly what ran through his head. A reason for his earlier pummeling.

"Your father is a military man. Only one other sibling, older. You're thirteen, you have a strong sense of right and wrong-" Mycroft neared just in time to hear the blond kid's words.

"Amazing. Really. That was quite amazing. How did you do that?" The younger boy frowned now, his wide gray eyes studying his new acquaintance.

"There now, I think it's stopped bleeding. Say, you wouldn't happen to be Sherlock?" the younger boy nodded. "Where's your coat?"

"Left it back there, had to run and it was slowing me down."

"Ah, well let's go collect it, and you know you have a worried older brother looking for you?"

"Did Mycroft send you?" suspicious eyes.

"I bumped into him in the park, I asked if he needed help. So I say we go find your coat, I bet your mum wouldn't want you to lose it especially with such a chill in the air."

"Sherlock!" Mycroft neared now.

"Oh, see there, there is your brother." Mycroft caught the dark look thrown his way. But the blond boy didn't say anything to him, just gave a quick smile one that Mycroft could tell was laced with something like disappointment but he wasn't going to bring it up in front of Sherlock.

"Well, looks like you have it now. I must be going."

"Sherlock, Mycroft thanks for a little bit of an adventure and some exercise but I'm off. "

"Wait-" Sherlock called. "We can give you a ride home." The blond kid looked over the brothers gave a pinched smile, Mycroft could tell he wanted to but something was keeping him from accepting. Embarrassment maybe by his home, or no something else.

"Thank you. I'll see you around." He started to jog off in another direction. Sherlock didn't say a word to his brother he only walked past him to collect his coat and start home.

"I'm sorry." Mycroft yelled to the retreating form of his younger brother, the collar of his shirt ripped and stained with blood. His blazer torn and muddied beyond repair.

"I should know better than to rely on you Mycroft. A mistake I shan't ever repeat."

**~o~**

Sherlock was tossed none to gently into the cell, he landed hard on the cement of this ten by ten cell. He weakly pushed himself up, still a little sore, his muscles cramped from the tension caused by the repeated tasering. He heard a groan from the corner just to his left. Immediately anger shot through the dark haired detective, taking in his friends many bruises and cuts. John was slumped his head resting on his chest.

"John?" Sherlock went to his friends side, "John?" he tried to contain his fear and concern, but the more he tried to calm himself the worse the anxiety became threatening to drown him. Sherlock put a hand to his friends shoulder. Examining the nasty gash at the base of John's head, another just to above his right temple.

"Oh, hello." The good doctor lifted his head, a pair of glassy brown eyes seemed to try and focus on his friend.

"John?"

"Sir, yes sir. Captain Watson, sorry I'd stand and salute sir but I cant seem to find my bearings."

Sherlock put a hand to his friends bruised neck and color bone, catching several needle marks, being an experienced man with syringes, Sherlock understood John had been drugged. Bastards.

"It's alright John we will figure a way out of this."

"Sir, You wouldn't happen to have some water on you would you sir. Sorry to ask-this desert heat and I cant seem to find my own. Sir." Sherlock touched his friend's brow; he was warm to the touch. What did they give him?


	11. GUILTY, RESENTFUL, PROTECTIVE

Mycroft's dreams or rather nightmares swirled around, casting him off into the dark waters of memory. And somehow John managed to wriggle his way into the British Government's past. The older Holmes brother was a practical man, a man of logic so such fantasy thrust him into the foreign waters of sentiment.

Not accustomed to this feeling of helplessness, all Mycroft could do was wait it out, and he could normally be a man of great patience, usually. This however, was not the case, in this situation he very much wished to wake up.

And to wake up now, he tried to will himself to cut this dream-this nightmare, short. Why would anyone desire to revisit the past? Some even wrote stories or made movies of it, truly how many popular science fiction shows used this subject as a plot line, such childish sentiment, all of it.

Such nostalgia was beyond him, it served no purpose. One could not change what already happened. Why even reflect on it, sure you could argue it's value as a learning experience.

But Mycroft had far more experience's he'd like to hold on to. This was not one of them. He had organized his mind in neat and tidy files holding methods of compromise, and navigating through strategies to win and gain advantage, moving him into a position to keep the people of his country safe. And he had, he had, and at the same time he tried to keep Sherlock safe, that wasn 't enough?

Mycroft understood his failings but hadn't he made up for them by keeping an eye on his brother, keeping him safe even trying to protect him from self destruction? Why now did his sharp mind plague him with the emotions he wasn't even aware of having? The tall government building of his mind, in which he stored his information, was starting to become cluttered, doors and prison cells he'd locked away started to open and all these memories that served no purpose what so ever spilling out threatening to drown him in..in-

Guilt-what should he feel guilty about? Sherlock couldn't be kept from the cruelty of the world, he needed to know the consequences of his actions. Mycroft couldn't keep protecting him from the storms, especially when Sherlock refused to stand under the shelter of Mycroft's umbrella. That had been a lesson his brother needed to learn, instead the incredibly stubborn child only lashed out by blaming him! How was it that his little brother managed to turn everything on him?

Now, in this reverie the older Holmes was stuck in, he had no escape, no defense to push these recollections and experiences away. His mind was allowing emotion to cloud and confuse him. He clutched his umbrella, glancing towards his younger brother now sitting next to him. Mycroft almost wanted to reach out and smack him with his umbrella, just for forcing him into this drugged sleep.

Sitting in the back of the car his younger brother held to the white napkin stained with his blood an odd look on his bruised young face. "His father is a drunk. And his mother is dead. He has an older brother whose already run away from home with his girlfriend." Sherlock frowned, Mycroft wondered if this was true, and he did remember looking over John Watson's service file as well as any kind of record he could dig up on the man.

"Sherlock. That has no relevance to this incident." Mycroft snapped, trying to hold his temper and irritation in.

"I told him, I told him everything I knew about his family, his life and instead of punching me in the face or stalking away angry, he said I was brilliant. He did correct me, he has a sister not a brother, but she did run away from home with her girlfriend. He called me brilliant."

"Sherlock, of course he would say that." Mycroft grumbled, what was the point of this conversation? Why did it grate on him that his brother held onto that John Watson's every word. Why would he, Mycroft Holmes feel angered at that?

 

"He's going to do what he wants to." Came a sobering voice and Mycroft glanced around momentarily confused. He started to realize with better clarity that he was standing back in his fathers study, by the window. The sun shown through, warming his face, his eyes adjusting to the brightness gradually, the blue of the sky, and the green of the garden wasn't what held his attention. It was a small dark haired boy trying to balance himself on the high stone garden wall.

"He's going to fall." Mycroft tensed.

"Yes. He's going to fall. He did fall." a statement, a fact. The blond haired boy came to stand next to an older Mycroft, his feet making a soft shuffling sound against the expensive carpet. A carpet that still laid on the floor of the study in the Holmes estate, this was his father's favorite place to stand, Mycroft reflected, just more sentiment he pushed that away and asked coldly;

"Why are you here?" The reflection of the younger John in the window shrugged.

"I don't know. It's your dream. Or I guess nightmare." John sighed.

Mycroft took his eyes off of his younger brother turning to glare at this dream version of John. He was wearing a pair of faded jeans, and a plain white t-shirt and sporting a black eye, Mycroft must of grimaced because the boy replied easily,

"Don't feel sorry for me Mycroft. I become the man that I will be, because of the things in my life I experienced. Failures, disappointments and success. But we both know this isn't about me." He tilts his head towards the window, just in time for Mycroft to see his brother fall from the garden wall.


	12. THE RELEVANT PIECES

"John can you hear me?" Sherlock lightly tapped his friend's feverish cheek, still nothing. Sherlock used his coat to keep John's head propped up, laying him down during one of the periods of unconsciousness, keeping a sharp eye on his friend in case the doctor became sick. Best not deal with the choking and or getting that bile into the lungs that would definitely exasperate the situation.

"John, you need to snap out of this so I can decide on the next course of action."

"And what's that?" John murmured his eyes glassy, turning his head in the consulting detectives direction.

"John, can you understand me? It's me Sherlock." dare he hope?

"Oh, you're looking for my flatmate.-"

" _ **I am**_ your flatmate." Sherlock looked away, not receiving an acceptable reply. He then placed his hands in a comforting praying position, this helped him think. He had several options open, but the best outcome would be achieved if John were just a little more mobile.

He glanced at his watch, Mycroft would be out for another three hours. And their jailers may just try to keep John drugged, he'd need to make his move then. One more dose could prove fatal, Sherlock wished he knew what they'd given John and then he would have a better idea on how fast the Doctor's body may or may not metabolize it.

"Not the ideal situation I expected, but it is still manageable."

"Oh, don't try to talk me out of it Harry. It's just the army, and I'll be a doctor when I'm done."

"I am not Harriette John. Do I reek of a distillery?"

"You drink too much."

"Like a fish." Sherlock mumbled thinking of John's older sister. She was weak willed, could never have more than _**just one**_ drink. In comparison to her brother the two couldn't be more different, yet that didn't stop them from showing any kind of displays of affection. Harriet would hug John or ruffle his hair as if he were a child, sometimes she'd lightly slap his arm or shoulder(the uninjured one). John had seemed slightly embarrassed by her actions but he sometimes would return these childish gestures, and Sherlock would catch himself completely mystified by the exchange.

Sometimes this encounter would make him reflect on his own relationship with Mycroft. As much as he hated to admit it, Mycroft did share commonalities with Sherlock. Though Mycroft was a lazy git with a god complex, Sherlock found they thought somewhat along the same lines.

The means always justifying the ends. Sherlock solved puzzles and raced full force into situations running on the fuel of curiosity and the challenge of a new riddle. Mycroft however liked to take his time; he had a way of weighing in his options, moving his people into position like he would chess pieces. And as long as he won at the end, he would sacrifice his players always choosing the route of less loss. He did it all to keep the country safe, nothing else mattered.

Father's mantra being "sentiment is not an advantage." Something Mycroft had repeated and Sherlock himself had practiced. This was Sherlock's own strategy, when playing any game. Except on a slightly smaller scale than his older brother, his game board was London whereas Mycroft's was a more world scale. Then Moriarty had brought something startling to Sherlock's attention.

The mad man had shown Sherlock that the people in the game were more than pieces on a chess board. Certainly when they fell they would never get back up to play again. Such loss would leave holes in the consulting detectives defenses, and such threats of loss would cause hesitation in his next moves. That was the difference between the two brothers, what value did Mycroft put in those who served him?

No, Sherlock had no one serving him, they were with him, and not because he was paying them or out of duty. But because they honestly and for reasons that Sherlock could not fathom or began to understand, they did it all out of loyalty and want. That was friendship, and Sherlock found himself wondering if Mycroft had ever experienced such a response in those around him.

John and Harry though having nothing in common tried to keep in contact, and when John spoke to his sister no matter how irritating the harpy was John never lost his temper with her. Sherlock couldn't stand being in the same room with Mycroft without either one of them verbally attacking each other using the disguise of polite conversation.

Sherlock sighed now, John always caring about others, proof of such a perplexing trait was evident on those who survived the attempted kidnapping, everyone even Mycroft had been doctored and all wounds cleaned and tended to. Looking over his friend, the many scraps, cuts, and bruises no one had thought to attend to and of course John would be to concerned with everyone else to consider his own injuries.

"Mycroft-this is his fault." Sherlock fumed.

"Mycroft?" John mumbled

"Yes John, Mycroft. This is his fault. But I trust he'll get us out of this as well. I just need you to sober up."

"Oh did Mycroft send you? You'd think after the last one I punched in the face, he would understand?" John chuckled now, trying to fix a drunken gaze on Sherlock.

'John?" the dark haired detective curiously studied his injured friend.

"I don't need a babysitter. I already told you so piss off." Sherlock wondered what triggered the sudden outburst. Was it a memory of John's or a hallucination? He tried to think of the information Mycroft had fed him about John and the others in Sherlock's absence. The updates never mentioned such an incident.

"Are you giving me a lift home then? Well that will save me the cab fair." John sighed trying to sit up now. "Maybe I'll just sit. On the curb here, might need a minute. Or I decorate the inside of the car again with whatever cheap beer I've had to drink. Probably not a good idea." John turned slowly to Sherlock, squinting, he'd managed to lean himself against the cold concrete wall, a good sign that perhaps the drug was wearing down. "Seeing double. Could you try and stay still, one of you." The consulting detective continued to study his friend, taking these words in and filing them away for later examination. "Dresson is it?" Sherlock didn't reply. "Tell your mate sorry about the eye. And I'm sorry about your eye as well. If it helps I'm feeling a little beat up and it's hot in here, yeah."

Sherlock realized his friend was sweating now, searching his pocket for something, finding a silk handkerchief , he wiped his friends brow, gently avoiding the deeper cuts, and careful with the bruising.

"Hey-you look a lot like this friend I had. Is that why Mycroft sent you? Probably thought I wouldn't hit you-yeah that would be his thinking. Sorry again mate. Well we should get this over with, his majesty is going to be calling early in the damn morning, he always does. Or sends Lestrade. Between the two mother hens-funny I keep moving and they seem to find me no matter."

"Why?" Sherlock asked curiously, he moved back to perch next to the doctor. He knew any response he'd receive wouldn't make sense.

John closed his eyes and just shrugged. "They just remind me. I'd rather not remember any of it."

"Of what?" Sherlock felt his stomach twist.

"Why am I blubbering to you-guess your boss has sent you to do a job for a reason. Lets go then. I hope you know where I live because at this point I'm hopeless at finding it myself." He chuckled.

"No, maybe you shouldn't get up. Just yet." Sherlock pressed his hands onto John's shoulders with enough force to keep him seated but not enough to be threatening.

"I'm feeling a bit pissed, maybe I should just take a bit of a nap. If you don't mind so much."

"Take all the time you need John." Sherlock replied. Just more questions for Mycroft his dear brother. Why hadn't he told him that John had gone on a drinking binge? If that had really happened, and Sherlock had sinking feeling it had. Three years he'd been gone and when he returned John seemed defeated, quieter, he'd lost weight and from what he learned later John threw himself into his work, but no one informed him of what had gone on in his absence.

Why would Mycroft keep this from him? _**"It's not relevant to your case"**_ his mind replied.

_**"But it's John. He's relevant."** _

_**"Sentiment hazes your decisions, hastens your reflexes causes miscalculations. There was no room for inaccuracy, no room for failure, or it would all be for not."**_ He swore at the logic in it, and of course Mycroft would have wanted him to stay focused. And what could he have done, returning early would just undo everything he'd accomplished at that point.

Still Sherlock took a deep breath he was here now, and he was going to get them both out of this, they wouldn't need to go too far. Mycroft and the endless lackeys at his disposal, would never be to far behind.

Also, being a close friend of the Irish Prime Minister, Mycroft would call in his favors. The elder Holmes brother had an endless amount of favors to call in.

Sherlock would receive free food, and equipment from his own clients but Mycroft gained favors. This made the Government man annoyingly smug and arrogant hence why Sherlock didn't mind manipulating his brother into using said favors to aid him in tricky situations such as this.


	13. VINDICATED

Mycroft moved faster than he thought his age would allow, but this was his dream, if Sherlock was eight years old than he was a teenager. The Government man didn't make it to the garden instead he was in a hospital, the nurse talking to someone next to him, her words started to register. The lights dimmer here, but the smell of disinfectant and bleach made his eyes water.

"Just a bit of a concussion, you'll need to keep him awake." The nurse was talking to the nanny who had a frown on her face, she knew she would be fired over this. Mycroft couldn't even remember the woman's name, he barely remembered any of Sherlock's nanny's, the younger Holmes ran through them so quickly.

"You can't leave Harry! Not yet. You have to go-"

"Johnny don't worry about me. And I'm not going to some dammed rehab. Where they'll have me sit in a circle and bare my soul. Tell them my daddy never loved me and my mummy is dead. Besides, I'm not addicted to anything." The young female voice sounded breathless and hurried.

Mycroft followed the direction of these voices across from his brother's room. He started towards the open door. He could see the 13 year old John Watson standing with his back to Mycroft, Mycroft wondered why he was curious, he did know that John's sister had several incidents of alcohol poising. This being her first, and a young John Watson pleading with her to go to reahab, reminded him of how mummy pleaded with Sherlock.

"Johnny! Worry about yourself. You shouldn't stay here, you know they've called him-" John shook his head, and he turned seeing Mycroft, before Mycroft could say anything a taller man pushed past him.

John took a step in front of his sister, the older Holmes brother observed curiously. The girl couldn't be much older than 17 at this point, she'd been lacing up her trainers, and Mycroft understood who they'd both hoped to avoid.

"You, you little slut!"

"Piss off! I don't have to listen to you!"

John caught Mycroft's expression the blond boy moved quickly to the door, blocking Mycroft's view of a young girl sitting on a hospital bed and her very angry father. John stepped in front of Mycroft, forcing him to take a couple steps back, slamming the door behind him, glaring up at the taller man.

"You really shouldn't snoop Mycroft. This isn't your business. Some things should not be in a file, and instead should be left unsaid. This is personal information." Mycroft could hear yelling, unable to make out the words, John clasped his eyes shut. Keeping himself between the door and the taller boy.

"Aren't you going to go in there?" John gestured with his head towards the room across the hall.

"You shouldn't leave her in there alone. She wont go to rehab you know." Mycroft replied as a matter of fact.

" _ **I am**_ in there. And she will go. Just not this time, she'll go, you'll see. You already know that." The younger John straightens his shoulder, his wide blue eyes find Mycroft's icy gray.

"Johnny!" John winced hearing his sister's strangled voice.

"Why are you even thinking of this? You know I would be angry if I knew you had this information." He heard crashes in the room, "I have to go. So do you."

Mycroft almost wanted to pull him away from the door, that compulsion confused him, "You cant change the past Mycroft."

Mycroft went to grab the shorter boy's shoulder to block the entrance but to late the blond boy disappeared behind the rooms door. He moved away from the muffled sounds, the yelling and the crashing and thuds of objects or maybe a young boy being thrown against a wall.

He retreated into his brother's room, closing the door behind him, he neared the bed expecting to see his younger brother with a cast on his small arm and his head bandaged. Instead he found a teenage Sherlock sitting up.

"Piss off Mycroft! I'm not going."

"You haven't been checked out, you need to get back into bed young man before you injure yourself." The nurse huffed looking pleadingly towards Mycroft.

"He's not my father-just my older brother. And I won't stay here." He moved to pull the IV out of his arm.

"I wouldn't do that." Mycroft recognized the voice, it was less weathered, and the face he turned to meet was youthful, sure this young man had seen some hard times but he had yet experienced the chaos of war. "I'll take care of this nurse."

"Mr. Holmes." John smiled.

"You, you're just a med student." Sherlock growled.

"And you are just a spoiled brat. I suggest you get back into bed and leave your IV in." 

"I'm not going to rehab." Sherlock glared at the blond young man.

"You don't have a choice." Mycroft snapped.

"Right, we know." John looked over the dark haired teen's chart,  John rolled his eyes, he turned to Mycroft shaking his head.

"Why am I here?" Sherlock huffed.

"Because you twit! You over dosed! What do you expect when taking a potent drug and shoveing it into your veins?" John tossed the chart at the teen.

"The question I'd like answered is why I'm here?" He started to pull off his white coat. Mycroft could see the army fatigues now under them, and still fresh-faced private Watson looked at the two frowning.

"Don't you have a war to go to?" Sherlock's voice was deeper and Mycroft could see his brother wasn't the same teenager, just a bit older.

"I guess you're right. Catch you in a few years."

"Whatever." Sherlock waved the Doctor off, then glaring at his brother. "Well Mycroft, don't just stand there, get me out of here."

"Sherlock you need help."

"Oh great are you really going to send me back to rehab, isn't four times enough. Everyone there is an idiot-"

"And I suppose nearly killing yourself makes you a genius."

"It was a miscalculation." Sherlock growled.

"A miscalculation?" Mycroft felt like shaking his brother. "You almost died! A miss calculation is getting a chemistry equation wrong and causing an explosion that burns off your eyebrows! This, this almost killed you, again! Not to mention dear brother what the stress does to Mummy."

"I need a cigarette."

Sherlock grumbled pushing past his brother, leaving Mycroft in the empty hospital room.

Irritably Mycroft decided to follow his brother outside, he wouldn't be treated this way again, especially by a hallucination of his petulant little brother.

Instead of finding himself outside the hospital he was standing in his family home staring out the same window as before, but the stars shown brightly instead of a sun, and the gray stone of the garden wall was covered now by IVY.

"This is your! Fault!" Sherlock's baritone voice growled. And Mycroft without turning knew this act, he'd played it over and over in his head some sleepless nights. So he was doomed to repeat the same lines and he did, not feeling as passionately as he had the first time around, he turned to face his brother, putting the memories of the garden behind him.

"Don't look at me that way I know you planed this! This was it the whole time, to force my hand! People could have been hurt!"

"What do you know of hurt? This maniac threatens more than just a handful of acquaintances we both know it. You cant keep hiding away feigning ignorance brother. And despite what you think I had no intention for this to happen."

"You rarely do anything without a reason! Your every word and move is calculated before you act. You pushed me into play."

"For what it's worth I didn't mean for any of this to happen, not like this."

"I find that hard to believe. It is of no great concern now. Here I am, I'll do this for you. I will track them down each and every one of them that had a hand in this, that are linked to Moriarty's web. And after, I will return and you will not come to me for any kind of help. Foreign or domestic! This only works as long as they are kept safe, I could care less about those _you_ care about, seeing how you have no concern for those I do."

"Sherlock-" a tired plea.

"Just say you will do this. You owe me this much. I want your word that Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, Molly and John are out of harms way, that they are kept safe." a simple but complicated demand.

"Yes. I can do this. They must never know that you are alive. And you do understand, you can not contact them until this business is cleared."

"I understand that more than you could know. This is what I want from you, I want you to clear Lestrade's name. He doesn't deserve this backlash, this mark on his career. Mrs. Hudson will need checking up on, and of course to be suplmented for the income lost over my leaving. Molly is trustworthy I will not have you or your goons harassing her. And John." Sherlock ran a hand through his hair, he stopped pacing.

"Yes, Sherlock I am capable of watching over a handful of civilians."

"Are you? Are you brother? "  
"Sherlock-"

"No, understand this. They are not chess pieces, they are not! They were put into play because of the choices you-" the fight suddenly leaving him Sherlock slumped down into the uncomfortable chair in front of Mycroft's antique desk. "and I have made. And I can not do this if I am not certain they are safe. He is my friend Mycroft. You couldn't understand this." It wasn't cruelly said, Mycroft noted, it was a statement a fact. "But he is the one person that understands me. One you didn't have to bribe , blackmail or threaten."

Mycroft poured a drink for his brother and the two sat silently staring into the flames dancing in the fireplace. Mycroft wanted to say more, but he closed his eyes against the heat of the flames, knowing that this timeline of events was nearing a crescendo. Upon opening his eyes he found himself feeling more weary than ever, how exhausting sentiment could be. Exactly why he chose to lock it away in the deep cells of his own mind. Squinting against the brightness of the mid noon day he scanned the streets looking for his brother.

Slowly registering that he was standing outside St. Barts hospital and Sherlock was nowhere to be seen. He did find a troubled John Watson squinting up at the bright sky. No, not the sky, John was frozen now holding a phone to his ear. Yes, Mycroft finally decided, this is a nightmare, a dream would bring some kind of comfort but this-this was a slide show of past mistakes and misjudgments. Frame by frame his most haunting memories and thoughts-


	14. AWAKENING

"John?"

"He's going to fall." John tensed, and Mycroft could see his brother on the roof. "This was cruel. Was it your plan or his?" Dark blue eyes bore into the gray of Mycroft's. Angry, sad and haunted.

" A collaboration. We didn't have a lot of time."

"Watch then." John growled. "Watch you coward." Mycroft glared at John.

"I don't need to John. I know the secrets to this illusion." John returned to watch the dark figure on the roof of St. Barts.

"This was cruel." An unsteady whisper.

"It may seem so-" Mycroft sighed, gone was the youthful face, this was a man who'd returned from battle, stripped of purpose and given a life sentence of a civilian.

"Than you lied to me after. Looked me straight in the face and lied. You watched my world crumble and you lied." John's voice held no edge of anger; all this was statement cool and calm. So much unlike the explosive altercation.

"We had no choice. John. I don't want to watch this."

"I know. Neither do I. I'm glad you only saw the pictures and instructed your men on what parts to play. Or I'd be forced to see this all again."

"It was necessary John."

John sighed.

"I know that. I know. But doesn't make it any more easier." John shrugged now, his face less pinched, hands behind his back he tilted on the balls of his feet his eyes avoiding the building in front of him.

"This time he'll fall but I will be there in time to catch him." John nodded stiffly understanding the older Holmes words.

The British Government wanted to say more, but the shorter man was sitting now on the curb his head in his hands "Jesus-" He murmured in shock.

Once again Mycroft would blink only to find himself sitting in a small flat. He'd taken a spot in a very uncomfortable chair, holding his umbrella in his hand, he tapped it subconsciously on the old wood floor. His eyes now on a sleeping figure sprawled fully dressed on a small twin sized bed. The smell of stale beer radiating from the unconscious man.

Mycroft really hadn't wished to recall this time not so long past.

"Oh, its you. Figures." A groan, and then blond haired man lifts his head weakly, running a hand over his unshaven face.

"John you can't continue this way."

"Fuck off. Why don't you show yourself out."

"Tea John? Perhaps some breakfast?"

"Dammit Mycroft stop tapping your bloody umbrella, my head is pounding."

"Maybe you aren't exactly cut out for your families favorite past time."

"Ugh, I hate you." John buried his head back in his pillow.

"Come on John, you need to shower and dress, I'll take you to breakfast."

"I don't need a damn babysitter!" He moved to sit up, Mycroft offered him a glass of water. He took it gratefully. "Thanks." He sighed.

"John. We both know how this will go, so lets cut out the waste of words and time and move straight to you showering, shaving and accompanying me to I'd say breakfast but it's well past noon, so a late lunch."

"Bloody hell-fine!"

Mycroft glanced around the small flat, turning his nose up at the unwashed dishes in the sink, and old left over take away boxes. As the shower ran, he moved around searching the cupboards and under the sink. An expert at finding a drug addicts hiding places, Mycroft found what he was looking for and made sure he emptied each bottle out into the sink.

"Mycroft what the hell-" John cleanly showered and dressed in a pair of Jeans with a long sleeved stripped t-shirt, his blood shot eyes narrowed on the elder Holmes "Who do you think you are?"

"John Hamish Watson-" Mycroft straightened standing his full height for added intimidation. "I will not watch you self destruct. We are going to leave this place immediately, have a nice lunch and you will tell me your plans for seeking further employment. Clearly this part time work isn't helping to keep you in more suitable surroundings."

"What? Who do you think-" Mycroft sighed walking past the shorter man.

"John, I really don't like to repeat myself, I'd also hate to have you drugged and dragged out of this dwelling and put somewhere you can safely respite without indulging in this pointless self destructive behavior."

"Piss off Mycroft." John ran a hand through his hair, his hand had a slight tremor, nothing to do with the drinking, Mycroft knew his tremors and nightmares had returned. He'd had his men search the place for the Doctor's weapon and disarm it. "What do you care." He growled. "I am not your family."

"John." Mycroft took a deep breath, this conversation he knew all to well, and he'd thought he had deleted these days, the days where it felt like someone else had taken the good Doctor's place. Harry had gone on her own drinking beinge and John didn't have any other family. Mycroft had told himself he was keeping a promise. He owed his brother, that's what he'd told himself over and over again but in truth Mycroft hated seeing the usually so put together man on a down ward spiral. He'd seen this pattern in his own brother.

He would not allow the ex soldier in front of him to be victim to his own dark emotions. "John, despite what you think, I am not trying to control you. I only want to see you succeed in life. Sher-" He watched the doctor wince, and quickly changed his wording "My brother would be aghast if I allowed his only friend a good man to self destruct. No one wishes to see you this way. And quiet frankly I'm running out of agents that you haven't punched for trying to escort you home."

Mycroft wanted to tell him, wanted to give him some clue that Sherlock was alive, this was their fault. This man had done so much for Sherlock, so much that Mycroft could never have done. He was indebted to the doctor, and to Sherlock. Mycroft knew how to handle this type of situation and handle he would, he could not and would not allow the ex army doctor to go this route.

John ran a hand through his blond hair, he needed a hair cut, Mycroft thought and a shave, but first things first. The Doctor broke this train of thought with a deep chuckle, he sighed now examining the older Holmes' confused glance.

"You're right Mycroft. I can't keep punching your agents. How's the diet?" he asked in such a familiar tone that Mycroft was speechless.

"You know you are one to talk." John slipped on his shoes, "Looks like you haven't slept in a while and you have lost weight. Come on, but I'll tell you now I'm not eating anywhere that has menus in a languages I don't speak." John started for the door he sighed "You coming?" Mycroft noticed the change in the doctor's posture. He didn't bother to lock the door Mycroft almost asked why but the shorter man shrugged. "This way when your men come in they wont have to pick it. I'm not stupid, I know this routine. I just hope when they bring food it's not the cheap tea."

"John, I hardly buy the _'cheap'_ tea."

"All the same you know my usual. I'm a simple man Mycroft Holmes."

Mycroft understood now, reexamining the situation. This was a truce between the two, and at this point the two would become closer. John stopped having to be kidnapped instead he'd call Mycroft to set up a time. Mycroft had asked him to look over several "special" Patients. Mainly field agents that were in need of emergency medical care.

He'd call the doctor up at any hour, sending a car and John never asked questions. And he lost the tremor in his hand; he'd even taken a job at a surgery, moving out of that less than adequate hobble, into something surprisingly in his price range. Of course, Mycroft had been sure the doctor didn't know the building was owned by a business man that owed him a favor, quiet a bit of the rent had been discounted when the army doctor came to look it over.

And Mycroft came to realize what it was that made John Watson different from all other acquaintances, he listened, spoke honestly and he laughed. Not forced but a warm honest laugh. Mycroft had resisted the urge a few times to keep himself from joining in. He only sighed as if in distaste for whatever joke or anecdote the good doctor was retelling.

"Really John I do think that clinic you work at is under your station."

"You should eat. New international incident to clean up I assume or is it babysitting foreign politicians?" When Mycroft didn't answer the doctor smiled. "Oh, both. That cant be fun."

Mycroft did enjoy their time together, it was somewhat of an escape from the arduous work as a government official. That and keeping tabs on his younger brother, he didn't have the heart to confess to John that's what kept him up most nights. Especially when his brother failed to check in as planned.

And staring across the table at the man who finished his steak and chips, Mycroft thought how later he would be sitting here alone once again surrounded by the quiet he wrapped himself in like a winter coat against the elements.

"You know Mycroft the two of you are so clueless." John sighed pushing his half eaten stake aside. "You understand he isn't a child and you have to let go sometime. And he needs to remember that you aren't his enemy."

"You try telling him that John." Mycroft frowned. "Why are we having this conversation?"

"I dont know. It's your dream." John sipped his tea. "Perhaps you should try telling him."

"What."

"That you aren't his enemy."

"I have."

"Have you?" John sighed. "Well all that aside, as fun as it has been reliving this past we cant stay here forever. Maybe you should-"

"Wake up sir. Sir-" The brunette PA stood over her boss, already the sun had started to come up in through the window.

It had been an interesting conversation for her to have with one of the Irish Prime Ministers aids, explaining they'd need the use of the offices a little longer." The aid had wished to speak to Mr. Holmes, but she'd only detoured him "He is on a very important call, he can not be disturbed. You understand it is sensitive information, not even I am allowed in there." The aid nodded and accepted this but she wondered how long before he returned.

The young women felt uncomfortable at what she was about to do, but it had already been almost eight hours since the younger Holmes had disappeared. They had with the help of the government here started searching for the younger Holmes but came up with nothing. So, she leaned over her boss and nudged him, yes, she nudged the British Government and said firmly "Sir. Wake up!"


	15. LOOSE ENDS

Mycroft gingerly placed a hand to the side of his head, the stitches still in tact, but his head started to ache, his PA handed him some aspirin, he inspected them before accepting. If she noticed his paranoia it didn't register.

"I suppose he's gotten himself kidnapped as well." Mycroft grumbled,

"Yes sir. Sorry sir, he caused quite a distraction."

"Yes. Yes. Any new developments?"

"Sir, we have a web link with Agent Dresson."

"Dresson?"

"Yes sir, while you were preoccupied, Agent Dresson volunteered his interrogation services in your stead. We had Elias Perry brought in."

Mycroft sat now in front of the large computer screen, "Go ahead Agent."

"Sir." Agent Dresson nodded, "I had Europol bring in Perry for a debriefing. As you can imagine it didn't take long to acquire the needed information sir." Mycroft could deduce by the rolled up sleeves and the splash of red on the mans white shirt just how the debriefing went.

"Go on."

"Elias Perry was instructed to plant the recording."

"Instructed by who?"

"His uncle a Director Joseph Perry." That was the connection his addled brain hadn't been able to make. Of course, and Perry would be working with Duke Harrington. He clinched his jaw. "Sir, it seems he has lost contact with his uncle in the last eight hours. Said it wasn't like the man to not return his calls. I am sending you the location of one of their secret warehouses used for smuggling weapons its just outside of Dublin."

"Good work Agent."

"Yes sir, if you need anything else sir I am available. As for Elias when he is out of the infirmary he'll be going straight to lock up." Mycroft gave a tight nod and closed the connection.

"Sir, the Prime Minister said he has troops ready to mobilize." Mycroft glanced at his PA who read the text off quickly.

"Good man, very proficient. Lets go than, time to collect my brother, I owe him a drink. I only hope he hasn't managed to get himself killed before I can do it myself."

"Sir?" Mycroft hadn't realized he'd said that last part out loud.

"Nothing, lets go then."


	16. COLOMBIANS

"That felt a little better. I think." John murmured as he finished dry heaving.

"John?"

"Sherlock-bloody hell, do you have to talk so loud." John ran his shaking hands over his sweaty face.

"How are you feeling?"

"Like I had one to many at the pub. Please tell me I didn't get up on any tables and sing?"

"No John, I can assure you there was no singing or tables."

"Oh, good, good. Than I'm just going to go back to sleep if you don't mind."

"No!" Sherlock straighten John by his shoulders. His friend winced, but Sherlock wasn't sure if it was from the fact he'd squeezed John's sore shoulder or from the sound of his voice.

"Piss off-it's too early." John hissed rubbing his temples.

"John, I need you to stay with me. We've been in here for a few hours now. And I fear they will be coming back to drug you again. I can't let them do that."

"Drug? What the hell are you talking about?" John squinted against the bright lights, everything was out of focus. Sherlock heard the sound of the lock on the door click, and the windowless metal door swung open. Two men entered. One held a very large gun and took position just in front of the open door. The other held a syringe.

"He cant take much more! You'll over dose him."

"What would you know about it?" the man holding the syringe growled. "Just get against that wall over there and no funny stuff, the Duke hasn't decided if we can kill you two yet. We are to keep you comfortable till he gets back."

"What are you giving him?" Sherlock remained standing in front of his friend. He couldn't let them do this John couldn't take much more, the ex drug addict knew these symptoms, shaking hands, sweats, chills and fever all of it not good.

"Don't you worry Mr. Holmes. We are only keeping soldier boy here relaxed. It's time for his medicine. Now step aside or Rodney there will introduce you to one of the ends of his gun." Sherlock wouldn't move, his eyes narrowed on the steel-toed boots, his lips curled in disgust.

"Go on then Rodeny, these ones never make it easy." the shorter man sighed.

Sherlock surged forward, and Rodney advanced on him and he knew he couldn't let them drug John, not another time. So he tackle the smaller man knocking the syringe from the mans grasp and planting a fist in the surprised assailants face. Rodney moved forward irritably making to pull the skinny detective from the shorter guard. Something halted his actions, he felt a pinch in the back of his leg, and a rush of warmth hit his body in a wave of euphoria. Rodney stilled, and wondered why the lights seemed to grow dimmer and dimmer.

Sherlock felt the bigger of the guards behind him, but for some reason the man hadn't moved to pull him from on top of the shorter guard. On hearing a heavy thud, both struggling men turned their heads, pausing briefly, curiously the big guard was lying on his stomach unconscious, and than Sherlock heard the familiar rattle of metal, to his surprise Doctor John Watson was holding the unconscious brutes weapon. John squinted shakily pointing the gun at the now motionless guard under the detective.

"Steady now there Doc-don't be to hasty." the smaller guards voice quivered.

"Sherlock take this I'm maybe seeing double and I don't want to shoot the wrong one of you." Sherlock stood taking the weapon from his swaying friend. Without hesitation Sherlock did just what the smaller gaurd had threatened, bringing the butt of the heavy weapon down on the mans head. Just enough to knock him out. He glanced at the bigger man, a syringe still jutting from the large calf muscle. If that had been enough to knock out the large Rodney, he felt sick thinking what it could have done to the good doctor.

"John, we have to get out of here. Can you walk." The doctor swallowed, another wave of nausea, he held a hand to his side, his brow still sweaty.

"Think so. I feel like I'm missing something."

"Yet you still managed to surprise our babysitters." Sherlock didn't hide the sound of awe in his praise. John shrugged,

"It wasn't anything. I figured you'd explain." John held the back of his hand to his mouth, taking deep breaths, he really did feel like puking at the moment. His stomach and sides ached, he felt as if he'd been hit by a truck.

"And I will explain. First lets see if we can get a little further away." Sherlock caught his friend whose legs seem to give out.

"I'm ok. Lets go." John grunted as the taller detective tried to steady doctor winced when an arm went around his waist, rubbing his sensitive ribs. "I just need to find my equilibrium." Sherlock could understand this, how he'd managed to function when he was on a downer such as this now baffled him. He would have to be sure to test John's blood to identify the drug, maybe next time he'd use that on Mycroft.

"Why are you smiling Sherlock? What have you done?"

"John, try to save your energy."

"Sherlock!" John froze as they were halfway down the corridor, Sherlock deduced that most of the men had cleared out and the Duke had already left to make whatever deal he'd hoped to make. Only leaving a handful of trained monkeys. He leaned John up against the corridor, the old warehouse felt empty, the lights slightly dim, no one was close by, no sound of nearing boots.

"John, please. Keep your voice down."

"Sorry." John winced, clasping his eyes shut.

"Mycroft? The others, from the car-"

"They are fine I assure you. My brother and his imbecilic staff managed to make it clear. All in thanks to you. Really John we are going to have a long discussion about your actions later."

"Everyone is alright. That's good. Mycroft, his head? And that Thomson's leg? Edwards? The PA?"

"All fine. John, all fine. I wish I could say more for you."

"Mycroft had a pretty nasty head wound."

"Well he is somewhat of a big head, he wasn't badly injured. Last I left him he was taking a nap, resting up."

"Good. Good." John's hands clinched and Sherlock knew his friend was battling nausea. "It's all a blur, I can see the green of the grass but then I remember desert and sand. Gun fire. I know its all wrong." Sherlock placed a firm arm around John's waist.

"It'll be alright John, we will get you looked over."

"I am a doctor-"

"Yes, and that makes you the worst patient."

"You're one to-" John grunted the throbbing in his side becoming more intense and his stomach was in knots. He'd give anything for a drink of water just a swallow. If the drugs were running their course the pain of his injuries were starting to announce themselves.

Sherlock could see the sun starting to rise outside, they'd been here a little over eight hours and it had been sixteen hours since the attempted kidnapping of Mycroft. Sherlock had taken John's pulse it had been fast when he'd first was reunited with the good doctor but now it dropped. He didn't like this, Johns color under the patches of bruising was a pasty white.

"Look at that John these idiots have their van just parked right there, I bet they didn't even bother to take the keys."

"That's nice of them." John mumbled.

"¿Qué tenemos aquí?" Came a spanish voice behind Sherlock, halting all movements forward. "Turn around seniore!" the Colombian ordered. "Poco a poco!" he growled. (slowly). Sherlock did just that, his jaw clinched. He kept John steadily behind him, feeling his friend sagging into him now. Sherlock almost laughed seeing the familiar face. It was one of the supposed terrorists in the film they'd received. This one was bearded and had was indeed Colombian and not middle eastern. Cleaver ruse, he thought to himself, almost convincing.

"I see you made it out of your Cell. Good, because when I shoot your friend there, I want it to look like he was trying to escape saves me form explaining to El Duque." Sherlock felt an anger in him, he suspected this man had been the one John punched in the face breaking the mans nose. "He doesn't look so good anyway. So move aside. You, we need for later. But him not so much. And I owe him."

"No." Sherlock sized up the man, he assessed the situation, as two more men stepped out. All bruised in some way, Sherlock ran through possible options, and senario's also the outcomes, none in which ended in his favor.


	17. ATONEMENT

Mycroft approached the warehouse, holding his umbrella tightly in his hand; he'd absent-minded grabbed his brothers blue scarf from inside the car this is what he held in his left hand. Entering the warehouse, he caught sight of five terrorists on their knees, the borrowed military men trained their weapons on the terrorists, as a police officer handcuffed the disarmed criminals.

Sherlock stood with his arm firmly around a nearly unconscious Doctor, the dark haired detective seemed to sense his brother's presence and twin gray eyes met, and held.

"Get a medic in here." Mycroft called behind him, approaching his brother and friend. Yes, no one needed to know, but Mycroft could admit it to himself, John Watson was a friend, he was family.

"Look John, the Queen has arrived. Mycroft. I knew you would show up, thought you'd be here sooner." Amusement, that's what Mycroft read in his brothers eyes, and the British Government clutched his umbrella, resisting the urge to smack his brother with it.

"My apologies John, I would have been here sooner had a certain brother of mine not drugged my scotch."

"Your scotch?" John mumbled his head resting on the taller detectives shoulder, eyes closed.

"In my defense John, had he followed his Doctor's orders, I would not have had to resort to such underhanded means."

"Sherlock? You drugged your brother?"

"He checked himself out of the hospital against doctors orders." John took a deep breath, well as deep as his sore ribs would allow.

"Mycroft dammit. You have a serious head injury." John meant for his voice to come off irritable but instead it was breathless and almost a whisper. Someone was laying him down on a soft surface. "You still owe me a lunch." He grumbled.

"Ah, that's where I left it." Sherlock grabbed his scarf out of his brothers hand smiling easily he started after the cot carrying his injured friend. Mycroft falling into step beside him. Neither brother could find the words to fill the silence pushing at the familiar wall they'd constructed against each other.

John winced in pain when the medics jostled the stretcher. Sherlock opened his mouth to reprimand the bungling idiots, but his brother beat him to it by snapping in his most authoritative voice.

"Do be careful. The man is injured enough."

John felt the pinch of an IV, but tried to focus on the two brothers, the shadows from the emergency lights danced around their fair skinned faces. He thought they were standing closer together, a smile on their lips as they discussed the demise of a common moose faced enemy.

The Doctor somehow managed to understand Sherlock and Mycroft, as if he were a radio catching their particular frequency, finally a warm soothing sleep wrapped around him like a, comforting orange shock blanket.

"Although I am very pleased as well as relieved to have you both back safe and sound I am disappointed to report that Duke Harrington managed to get away."

"I wouldn't say he will get too far." Sherlock grinned, shooting a knowing look at his brother.

"I should think not." Mycroft straightened, leaning on his umbrella.

**~0~**

Duke Harrington supervised his men loading the detonators and the British made explosives. The explosives had been moved from the Base that, now deceased Director Joseph Perry had been in charge of running. The Duke hadn't cared about the destruction of the Irish warehouse, they'd made the drop and that was all that mattered.

"Now for our cash exchange." The Duke smiled excitedly, his men standing behind him weapons in hand in case there was some kind of trouble.

"Right, your just reward." Came a familiar voice.

Sherlock smiled coldly watching the recognition spread across the dim witted Duke's face. The idiot moose of a man could only stand with his mouth open eyes wide. Mycroft's men surrounded the thugs, and the supposed terrorist buyers flashed their government badges, the Duke and his men surrendered without a fight.

"You should know by my reputation you silly foolish man, that when it comes to attacks on those I care for I can be quiet ruthless."

"You bastard!" the Duke growled.

"Oh, how conventional." Sherlock rolled his cold eyes, shoving his hands into the dark coat's pockets, he sauntered passed the arresting officers and men.

"Sir, we can take it from here if you're wishing to return to the hospital. Agent Dresson there can take you back." Sherlock narrowed his eyes on the Agent who stepped forward.

"Sir. I will escort you to see John-I mean Doctor Watson." Sherlock only followed the dark haired Agent, matching his stride easily being of the same height. "Your brother is already there." Sherlock paused momentarily his dark eyebrow arching.

**THE HOSPITAL SCENE**

"I don't know why I even agreed to playing a game of chess against you Mycroft. You obviously already won the game before the board was set." John grinned easily, lying back in his hospital bed.

"Doctor you did put up a somewhat admirable fight." Mycroft smiled politely, John shot him a unconvinced look.

Sherlock entered the hospital room now, "Mycroft I wish you wouldn't harass the poor doctor he needs his rest." He glanced down at the chess board, "Really John, did you even try?"

"Well brother it looks as though you've completed your business for the day, everything went off without a hitch I see."

"Of course it did dear brother. I'm sure one of your many cronies has already sent you the details." Sherlock ran a quick eye over the chess board set on Johns bedside table. He noticed Mycroft had allowed John a few pieces, before going in for the kill. One of the pieces left on John's side was his knight, Mycroft always went for Sherlock's knight.

"What business?"

"Oh, just making sure all the loose ends are tied up." Sherlock sighed.

John reached for his phone hearing a text message come through. Sherlock noted his friends down turned lips.

"Harry is unable to visit." Sherlock kept his voice even, a statement not a question.

"Yes. Well she has her Job, and she has never been one for hospitals."

Mycroft cringed at the nagging image of a young John and Harry Watson in a similar hospital setting.

"Of course." Sherlock nodded unimpressed.

"Gentlemen visiting hours are almost over. Mr. Watson-" the red haired nurse with the permanent frown on her face was cut off in mid sentence.

"Doctor." Both Holmes corrected her at the same time.

"Yes, Doctor Watson needs his rest." Nurse grumpy replied with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

Mycroft took the opportunity to go, knowing Sherlock wouldn't acknowledge the hospital protocol. So it surprised him that his younger brother followed at his heels. He gripped his umbrella, "Mycroft." Sherlock's baritone voice sounded unsure. The older Holmes froze in mid stride.

"Sherlock, that was a dangerous gamble."

"I had no choice, I needed to be sure that John was alright. If I hadn't-they would have drugged him and he would have more than a few broken ribs and stitches to worry about."

"What if I had been too late."

"Mycroft, when have you ever been too late?" Sherlock held his breath, knowing something had to be said between the two, this tension was in fact becoming exhausting.

"I have been before." a defeated tone.

"Not when it mattered."

"Well this is new." Mycroft still kept his back to his younger brother.

Sherlock hands in his pockets, in hopes to move out of these uncharted waters of sentiment, that neither brother knew how to comfortably navigate the younger Holmes resorted to his normal childish remark.

"Hope you have better luck with your diet this week."

"Oh brother mine. Do you think you could keep yourself and your flatmate out of trouble for at least a week? The additional paperwork is getting quite irksome. "

Sherlock didn't dare look in his brother's direction. But out of the corner of his eyes, he caught the tension in Mycroft's shoulders slack, before the Government official continued down the hall, with the sound of an umbrella tapping the cold floor in rhythm with his every step.

While Sherlock waited for Agent Dresson to take his leave he moved to the chess board taking one of it's wooden pieces then throwing himself into an uncomfortable chair beside his friends bed, he rolled the piece around in his hand and sighed dramatically.

"Bored.


End file.
